Inui's Fangirl
by ezyl
Summary: Everything you would expect from a nerd, chasing another nerd. Magical potions and Atobe-stalking involved. InuiOC.
1. Prologue

**Um. I've decided to rewrite. This is a second edit.**

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_Inui's Fangirl ~ Prologue [The Theory of Fangirlism]_

_by ezylrybbit  
edited 27.03.09_

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There is a peculiar hierarchy to the Seishun Gakuen Fangirl system.

At the summit of the bureaucratic complex lies the Seigaku Tennis Regulars' Fanclubs. Because our school has such a fantastic tennis program, the seven regulars are worshipped by girls and boys alike.

The soccer freaks are paid a little bit of attention; our volleyball and baseball regulars get their action, too—no one gives a damn about ping-pong.

Really, all anyone ever talks about is tennis.

The fanclubs, founded upon each regular player, consist of most of the popular, pretty girls. They're the ones that you see stalking down the school halls like they own each and every floor tile, trashing the freshman lockers and wiping the bottoms of their heavy-weight, one-inch thick, "in-style" combat boots on their kohais' skirts. They're the ones that, when even one so much as accidentally brushes past their hair, will probably get a fat smack in the cheek. People learn to become one-with-the-wall when these girls catch sight of the item of their adoration, so as to avoid all the frightfully unhealthy stampedes.

The girls' popularity rank differs by the member count of each fanclub.

Right now, the Tezuka Kunimitsu Fanclub is ranked number one (a revolutionary eighty fangirls), with Fuji Syuusuke trailing close behind (forty fangirls and thirty-five fanboys), and Kikumaru bringing up the third slot (with fifty or so people chasing after the acrobat). After that, "Rookie-Ryoma" Club follows (forty-five squealing freshman girls and three freshman guys), along with Kaidoh and Momoshiro tied at fifth place (the two groups are in constant warfare as to which one is really more popular; they're the ones that develop the biggest cat fights and vendettas).

Then the minority, Kawamura Takashi and Oishi Shuichiro. They each get about seven or eight fangirls a-piece.

And, finally, Inui Sadaharu.

I'm the one and only member of the Inui Sadaharu Fanclub.

Go on, laugh. I know you're going to.

There are pros and cons to the job. I get lonely without another member hanging around by my side to discuss Sadaharu.

Yet, I get to be the president of the club, plus Inui for myself.

You're probably wondering why the odd, eccentric data-tennis player on the tennis team even has a fanclub.

I mean, what can you see in a guy who wears the baggiest green sweats and the dumbest glasses? What can you see in a guy who mumbles to himself speaking in percentage-point language, and stalks people to death so much that you're afraid he has mental problems? What can you see in a boy that plays a style of tennis that is incredibly unflashy, and distinctly geek-like?

The thing is, I'm the only one, apart from his family, to have seen Sadaharu's eyes without being murdered in my sleep.

I mean his actual eyes. Not the green contacts that he wears behind his reflective lens glasses, but his actual, honest-to-goodness, hot-boy material, gorgeous, outstanding, blue eyes.

...

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**Reviews would be, as ever, helpful. Thank you for reading.**


	2. Chinatsu's Puppet

**Well, here goes. Since I got 4 reviews for last chapter (jumps up and down), I decided to continue.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. PoT characters are all (C) Kazuki Takahashi (did I spell that right?).**

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You may be wondering how I actually managed to take a peek at Haru-kun's beautiful blue eyes.

Yes, they're blue. Seriously. That's why he hides them and everything. Sadaharu told me that, when he was young, he used to wear sunglasses, because the other kids would tease him because of his eye color, jokingly calling him a wolf.

It all began, one day, _that_ day.

Chinatsu had pushed me out from the house again, not to go visit her old boyfriend, not to go hang out in the park…this time to the greatest hellhole on Earth – the mall.

Good kami-sama. Throughout the course of one day, I was pushed into seven separate changing rooms in eight consecutive department stores (all of them the home of incredibly slutty-looking apparel that were all cleverly designed to be worn on skeletons), shoved into at least four different shoe-stores (the sharp, multi-inch thick heels on the back of some of those dangerous contraptions looked like they could kill somebody if you had strapped them on and accidentally stepped on some poor guy), and then dragged (kicking and screaming) into a _makeup boutique_, whereupon a thick, foul-smelling "face conditioner" was slathered onto my face. It was puke-green, and contained suspicious little brown lumps that Chinatsu called "minerals".

Chinatsu, my best friend, also the entire opposite personality as me. She was a closet-perfectionist – on fashion. At school, you would never know this of her. She wore the thickest glasses, the longest skirts, and always had her nose in a book.

She used to be really pretty at the beginning of our senior year at Seigaku, but stopped trying to look perfect after she got kicked out of all the tennis fanclubs.

Chinatsu couldn't stick with one thing for very long. At the beginning of the year, she was hopelessly dedicated to the Fuji Syuusuke Club, baking cakes for the tennis tensai and swooning every time the boy walked around a corner. She got booted out after she had a meaningless fight with the president of the club over a tube of lipstick, and switched to Rookie Ryoma, becoming the only senior girl in the club (she left pretty soon afterwards, when both Kachiro and Horio took her actions the wrong way and thought she was trying to seduce them). She tried Kikumaru after that, but only found the acrobatic to be "annoying," and "constantly jumping around, like he was high on toothpaste."

Next, she joined the Momoshiro Takeshi Fanclub (she kissed him when he gave her flowers for Christmas, and the other fangirls got rather pissed), the Tezuka Club (she elbowed the tennis buchou in the groin on accident, when she was walking home and thought he was a stalker), the Kawamura Fan Club (she took one small bite of his wasabi sushi and fainted), Kaidoh Kaoru's Club (Chinatsu learned how to hit a decent Buggy Whip Shot, and became disinterested), and finally, the Oishi Shuichiro Fanclub, where she wasn't accepted, because of her history with all the other clubs.

Later, I asked her why she didn't join the Inui Fanclub, but she told me it was "unethical" to join just because your friend was in it (I was rather cold to her after a while when I realized that she just didn't find Inui appealing, but, needless to say, who_ would,_ except me?).

For a while after her rejection from the Oishi Fanclub, Chinatsu was reduced to wearing baggy t-shirts and her violet bangs swamping her forehead. She was more depressed than any other human being alive.

People started to think of her no more than an outcast and social leper.

And I couldn't have that. No, _that_ name was already taken.

So I stepped in, me, the invisible girl who was constantly under attack from spit balls and taunting insults. Me, the ugly girl since grade school, whom everyone took for granted as just a member of the community, just another girl who people knew.

I did something I'd never done before, and offered to help China-chan with her math homework. She was never really good with numbers and variables, and I loved doing algebra. We became fast friends.

Fast enough friends, that, one day, she started to drag me off to her comfort zone, the selection of fashion department stores on the far side of the Tokyo District. There, she proceeded to make me "show your inner beauty," and "become the true pretty girl you are."

My best friend was now living her original life through me. I was a puppet now, and she the grandmaster. I was dolled up in the skimpiest, most eye-catching clothing that belong in the red-light district, placed in various pairs of skinny sandals that got me rubbing my pathetic little blistery feet each night, and applied coat after coat of gooey foundation, powdery rouge, and splotches of eye shadow and mascara.

I couldn't say that I was displeased; I rather liked the attention I received from the general population after my big make-over. For the first time in my entire life, I was being checked out (albeit by this creepy-looking, old perverted monk that I didn't know, but still), I was being asked out and stared at (though I found Kaidoh's eyes rather scary), invited to fanclubs (that I didn't join, because I knew it would anger Chinatsu), and showered with gifts from boys that never before known that I existed.

I admit that I find this a great improvement from my former life. I definitely never dreamt it to happen, back when I was the school outcast. But, I guess everyone has that little reserved spot in their mind, where they wished they were good-looking and the attention of all the others.

In some ways, I'm rather ashamed of myself, for thinking that at all. What had my childhood books taught me?

_Always look for beauty on the inside. Don't judge people by their looks._

So much for _that_.

"So," Chinatsu interrupted my wandering mind, "what do you think of this outfit?" She was holding up a rather indecent-looking red and white top, with little metal rings running down one side and an artistically-ripped edge on the other side.

"China-chan," I bit my lip, "isn't it rather, too, um…"

I didn't want to use the word _whore-ish_. It wasn't part of my vocabulary.

"You're right," Chinatsu responded immediately, though I had no clue what she was talking about, "you're completely right, Momo-chan. It's much too flashy."

I hated being called _Momoko_. I was most certainly not peachy-looking (my skin was more white than anyone else's), and my real name was Maruko. I think it suits me much better, but Chinatsu has different ideas. She says that Momoko reminds her of her favorite childhood series, _Momoko Sakura_, and that I resembled the little chibi version of Momoko. I thought the Momoko Sakura was an annoying little cartoon.

Pretty soon, Chinatsu had everyone calling me _Momoko_.

Sadaharu was the first to call me by my real name. I don't even know how he found out about it in the first place, but it felt good to be known as who I really was, especially by the boy I admired.

After several hours toiling in the air-conditioned changing room (I hoped that I would die of pneumonia soon, being shoved into one ridiculous-looking outfit after another), we went to a nearby café.

It was there that I spotted him, hiding quite conspicuously in his green sweatpants and busily taking notes in his battered notebook.

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**A/N: I don't believe it, but I created 2 OC's in one sitting. Wow. They turned out more Sue-ish than what I first suspected, but that's to be expected. It IS an InuixOC fic after all. sighs I looked this up, and Chinatsu apparently means "a thousand summers". And I do like Momoko Sakura. It's very heart-warming.**

**Thank you for taking the time to observe this fan fiction! Please review and tell me if I could improve on stuff. I'm still an amateur (aren't we all?) and I need constructive criticism. I don't really care if you want to flame...I just want some reviews, 'kay?**


	3. Remember, You Saw Nothing

**Disclaimer: Inui and everyone else do not belong to me. (sighs woefully)**

**A long chappie. Took a while to write, and I'm very tired. Please excuse any spelling and grammar errors, but please do tell me if I got anything wrong.**

That bizarre, green-sweatpants-wearing freak had been following us throughout our day at the mall. I hadn't consciously noticed that until now, mainly because of Chinatsu's annoying habit of throwing things in my face and offering an unneeded source of distraction. I like to observe my surroundings, keeping mental tabs on who was around me and the general temperature, things like that, but with Chinatsu always jumping in front of me and taking away my attention, it was rather difficult.

So, I had gone through all those fitting rooms, a _futon-ya_, three separate shoe stores, and a minute of self-indulgence on a blueberry muffin and half a cup of funny-tasting coffee without realizing that the data master was stalking us.

How alarming.

And sinister.

And eerie.

And – oh, _great_ _kami-sama_.

Thinking, thinking, and I had bumped into the stalker himself. He had been frantically scribbling his precious data into his notebook, and not paying much attention to me, who was self-consciously and clumsily walking along in the new heels that Chinatsu had purchased for me.

"Oomph."

I felt the long, heavy edge of a book come into contact with my stomach, winding me and the whiff of a sharp, spearmint aroma sink into my nostrils before collapsing on the floor, back slapping the ground with a hard _THUNK_.

An army green notebook, battered, thick and surprisingly stain-less, fell open in my hands, along with a pair of thick, dark-framed eyeglasses. Before the notebook was hastily snatched away, I caught three words and a number: _…chance of_ _success: 100._

Instantly, I regretted not swapping for a pair of more suitable footwear.

The situation, in any other environment, would have been promising. My back was pressed hard against the cold stone floor, head dazed and pinned down by the distinctly minty-smelling boy on top of me (who had quite a lovely set of chest muscles, I might add). I was clad in a very revealing and improper mini-dress, and his head was against my chest. I thought he could hear my heart beating and my lungs breathing heavily.

Both of us were rather scared of what the other might do. If I had tried to shift upwards a tiny bit to escape, I would probably reveal my lacy, custom-designed underwear (damn this cursed dress). If data man had tried to pick himself off the floor from on top of me, he might form a slight wind tunnel between my legs and ultimately lift my skirt up.

But, in either situation, the result would be my utmost and total humiliation. I hadn't studied physics for nothing.

So, it would seem proper if both of us reacted at the same time.

Inui stood up with a quick movement, notebook gripped in one hand. He brushed himself off.

I tried to lift myself up, but that would endanger the chances of my dress slipping, so I stayed on the floor, and chanced a glance upwards.

I was pleased to see his face, for once, beet red and coughing politely. To think that I could have this effect on one of the more reserved members of the Seigaku Tennis Team. Chinatsu had once told me that, if you were able to approach and become friendly Tezuka Kunimitsu, Inui Sadaharu, or even Kaidoh Kaoru, you were able to approach absolutely anyone in the world.

Suddenly embarrassed, I lowered my eyes, only to I look up again. I found myself staring into the startling blue eyes of Inui Sadaharu.

I gasped. And blinked. His eyes…they were _blue_?

Realizing that I was still clutching his glasses, the horrified boy grabbed them out of my hands and shoved them back onto the bridge of his nose. His eyes were now sealed from my view and I thought I could hear him swearing out the side of his mouth as he said something that I perceived as very bizarre.

"Remember, you saw nothing."

Chinatsu came running towards me, her footsteps quick and measured, having walked up ahead to examine the beauty products of a _bisho-in_.

"Momo-chan! Are you okay?" She gasped, and tried to heave me up from slippery tiles without ruining my outfit.

On the ground, I was still in a state of paralysis. Those eyes, they were surprising in their own way…a tint of blue, highlighted by dapples of teal and turquoise, and illuminated in a vibrant azure. Inui's eyes were capturing, different from all others, surprising, reflective, and, most of all, blindingly beautiful.

I felt my heart flutter, and my head begin to spin.

What was happening to me?

Rubbing my eyes, I tried to pick myself up from the floor but just to faint, my legs growing weak as I fell down once again, my head jerking towards the side and my hair loose and scattered from it pristine ponytail that Chinatsu had painstakingly set up for me this morning.

This was truly a bad day.

After two more seconds of initial shock, I felt myself being pulled up to sitting position from the ground by a pair of strong, supple arms.

"Mizutani Maruko," Inui nervously adjusted his glasses.

"Momo-chan, say something! Can you hear me?" Chinatsu shook me like a can of beans, grasping my arms in a death grip until I couldn't feel anything below my shoulders.

I could hear mutterings from the crowd that was beginning to gather around my weak figure on the floor, Chinatsu's worried stance, and Inui's continued mumbling as he began to jot down more notes.

"Ow," I groaned, this time getting up by myself, head still spinning and limbs tender from the sustained injuries. Inui helped me into his arms.

Chinatsu seemed satisfied that I was awake, and backed away.

I tried to move, and my dress suddenly slipped past my shoulders. Grappling at the straps, I jerked it back on, my face burning.

The data collector spoke up, "Its okay, Maruko-san. Just rest for a while. Please don't exert yourself."

I relaxed against his chest. His _soft, warm_ chest.

More footsteps around me, echoing across the floor and pounding into my skull.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

"What's going on here? Inui, _what_ are you doing?"

The gruff voice of the Seigaku tennis buchou.

"I didn't know Inui had a girlfriend."

The slightly feminine tone of Fuji Syuusuke. I twisted around, and heard the shutter of a camera click, but not before Inui dropped me on the floor.

From my surprised yelp, I could hear a chuckle, "Not today, Fuji."

"Fshh…Inui-sempai?!"

I choked back a giggle at Kaidoh Kaoru's comment. He would definitely be shocked at his mentor having a girl in his arms.

"Wah! Momo-chan!"

Momoshiro Takeshi. He wasn't fazed at all by the fact that we shared the same nickname, but rather took this as a chance to try and buddy up with me (not to mention getting me to match-make him with Tachibana Ann).

"Nya, ochibi! Look, there's a girl that fell down! Let's go see what's happening!"

Kikumaru…the acrobat.

"Eiji-sempai, can we please get out of here…? I'm hungry."

The freshman ace. Sipping his _Ponta _and looking amused.

"Somebody get an ambulance!"

Oishi Shuichiro. Figures he would overreact.

"Ano…we should probably call security."

Ryuzaki Sakuno. The little freshman girl had taken to looking up at me ever since I had brought down the attention of every boy in the school.

"Momo-san! Oh, my, what are we going to do? Ryoma-sama, save her!"

Osakada Tomoka. Her voice wasn't hard to recognize; she was the only one with the booming yet high-pitched chirp. I smirked. Wherever Echizen was, Ryuzaki and Osakada were bound to follow.

"According to my two years of tennis experience, I think it would be necessary that Momo-san –"

"No one cares!"

Horio was abruptly cut off by the other two freshmen standing nervously next to him. I looked at the trio in confusion, and witnessed the three of them staring unabashedly at my chest. My dress had slipped, once again, to an unfavorable position. Shifting the low-cut collar up to my throat, I glared, my eyes threatening to _rip out their guts_.

They scampered into the nearest bathroom.

After a quick evaluation of the situation and an Oishi freak-out, everyone gathered around me, beginning to argue and decide on what to do to help me, while I was abandoned on the floor, rubbing my head and smoothing my skirt.

What were they all _doing_ here?

I soon learned that the tennis team had been on their way to Taka-san's sushi shop to celebrate a recent unofficial tennis victory, but had to drop by the mall in order to collect some special toothpaste that Kikumaru had ordered. Apparently, it was only ever delivered to _this_ specialty store in _this_ mall, and Eiji-kun had threatened to never play tennis again if they did not make the trip over here.

Tezuka took charge.

"Fuji, retrieve some paper towels from that coffee shop and clean up Mizutani-san's knee injuries. Kikumaru, go and buy your toothpaste. I promised Kawamura not to be more than half an hour, and we are already over 20 minutes late. And for heaven's sake, stop drooling over that teddy bear in the toy store. Kaidoh, keep an eye on your sempai and walk him to the store. Momoshiro, call for a taxi right now. I will pay for Mizutani-san's taxi fee. Inui will escort her back home, seeing as he had made no plans to eat with us in the first place. The girl is in no immediate danger; Oishi, please calm down."

"What about me?" the freshman whined.

"Echizen, you will quit intoxicating yourself with grape soda, round up your cheer-leading team, and confiscate Fuji's camera. Fuji, now is not the time for any black-mailing. Get to work! Anyone who does not complete their task in the next five minutes will run seven-hundred laps upon our return to Seigaku!"

I had never seen Tezuka in action, and was impressed. The guy could be quite threatening when he wanted to. You could almost see the blur of regulars' feet as they rushed past and tried to finish doing whatever they were commanded to.

_Seven hundred laps…harsh._

My headache worsened as I was finally able to stand up and walk shakily into a bench, where China-chan began to clean up my ruffled state. Running towards the restrooms, my friend brought out her emergency make-up kit and started to redo my brow and lips.

Then I saw Inui, now fully backed away from the scene, glasses glinting ominously while he took notes.

Even though everyone was crowding around and fretting over me, I felt oddly alone without his hand on my shoulder.

After much arguing, and continued interruptions, I was hauled into a cab, with Chinatsu straightening my dress and clutching my ribs while Inui ran his hand down my back, trying to relieve stress.

It was…very _comforting_.

I fell asleep.

_She was incredulous._

"_Your eyes…they're really blue?"_

_He sighed._

"_Yes. I thought I'd let you know that, when I accidentally showed your friend Maruko-san. Since she would probably tell you anyhow, I must swear you to secrecy before anything happens. You're a huge gossip, Chinatsu, and I hope that you would not tell anybody."_

"_But I thought…your eyes…they were green?" She scratched her head and leaned back against the leather car seat._

"_I wear contacts, as an extra precaution. I seemed to have forgotten to apply them today. Now, what I'm more worried about, was Maruko-san taking a peek at my notes, when we bumped into each other."_

"_Oh, don't worry, Momo-chan probably didn't see anything."_

"_I won't take your word for it."_

"_Why not?"_

_He avoided the question._

"_Hm, maybe I'll call Tezuka and see how he's managing the team…"_

_She watched him as he dialed the number and waited to hear the ring._

"…_we are now safely at Maruko-san's home, buchou. Do you think you can come over later? I have some rather controversial notes to discuss, Te – he hung up."_

_She smothered a giggle._

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**A/N: Hmm...is it too OOC? AU? Please comment. I spent such a long time writing this, and I'd be depressed if I got no reviews for all this HARD work...I'm trying to improve my style of writing.**

**Thanks for reading!  
**


	4. Chewing Pencils

**Really? I have no excuse for not updating.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis. Or I'd be rich. Yes, rich. I just love that word. _Rich_. Don't you? It has a nice ring to it.**

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I think I may be coming down with something.

A cold? Unlikely. I'm not sniffing, coughing, or wiping my snot across my sleeve (and, yes, I _do_ wipe my snot across my sleeve, it's just 'cause I'm too damn lazy to grab some tissues).

Measles? Nope. No red welts showing up inexplicably around exposed skin.

Basal cell carcinoma? Doubt it. I wear too much sun screen, so it shouldn't be much of a problem. Just to be safe, I checked my legs for any redness, itchy and swollen patches, or elevated bumps along the hairline.

"Momo-chan, don't pull up your skirt like that. It's very unladylike."

Since when did _she_ know what was ladylike? More importantly, how did Chinatsu even manage to _fit_ me into this microscopic skirt?

Perhaps, I have acquired a simple headache.

Yes, I'm pretty sure that's it.

When you have a study hall period in the school library, you actually _read books _and _complete homework assignments_.

You _don't_ try on different nail polish colors and gossip.

This idea, this "absurd rule", was completely lost on my friend.

"Momo-chan," after blowing dry her newly-applied glossy black polish, Chinatsu whispered to me across her upside-down textbook cover (she was supposedly _preparing_ for her English exam), "keep chewing your pencil…you're so cute!"

I cough, glance up from my class work, and glare across the library table. Jerking the pencil out of my mouth, I mumbled a mild disagreement.

"I look like a bimbo."

"No, you don't! Trust me, Momo-chan! You look so adorable when you have that eraser between your teeth…hm, I wish I had perfect teeth like yours, mine are all crooked and I'm going to get braces next week, I hope that people won't think it doesn't fit in with my drab outfit, I'd be horrified…"

I have no clue what she's larking about. Chinatsu's teeth were in excellent condition.

"…so you know that I had to go check-up the other day and I found this…"

She never closes her mouth, does she? Keep her tongue wedged securely between those flapping jaws? Even when Chinatsu is at school and supposedly dressed as the resident depressant, her tone of voice is frustratingly dapper.

"Trust me! Momo-chan, keep the pencil in your mouth…you'll really catch the attention of that cute…"

_Trust me, trust me!_ I snorted. Trust in China-chan had gotten me winded and lying on the mall floor, left to endure an inefficient rescue mission prepared by the entire Seigaku Tennis Team (who were incidentally, panting through their fifth-hundred lap around the tennis courts).

"Momo-chan…" Chinatsu gave me puppy dog eyes.

I resisted the urge to slap her.

"Oh, will you shut up? I'm trying to finish this homework. Anyways, I don't think chewing pencils is very healthy," I snapped absent-mindedly, hypocritically rubbing the eraser nub against my teeth.

Normally, I would never considering sticking a writing utensil up my mouth. Yet, here I was, nibbling on the eraser of no health benefits. I was thinking. Not of the English verbs, but on...something else.

Somehow, by the twisted thought processes of a demented brain cell, I had unexpectedly _enjoyed_ all the attention paid to me during by those gorgeous tennis players. I had spent half the night, tossing and turning in bed trying to uncover some secret meaning beneath all the actions of the Seigaku Regulars, playing the scenes through my head like an overused roll of film, editing out parts and rewinding over an over again.

I wasted the rest of the time scolding myself for doing that. It was so…so, _China-chan-like_. What am I, some love-struck, stalker fangirl who would waste her time chasing a hopeless love life? Some clichéd, blushing schoolgirl that would do anything to please her love interest?

Certainly not.

At least, _I _didn't think so.

Chinatsu tapped me on the shoulder.

"Look," she gave me one of those crazy looks that always had me wondering if she had smoked something before meeting me, "it's the Tezuka Fanclub vice-president – what the hell is _she_ doing here?"

_She_, Kaneda Hiroko, gave me a malicious look that I vaguely recalled seeing on the front page of China-chan's _LaMode_ magazine, on the face of an unnervingly gross-looking model that looked like someone had shoved something sharp up her butt.

For two days now, I had been facing ultimate humiliation and severe mental and physical damage at the manicured claws of all the tennis fanclubs. I had been pushed, shoved, kicked, scratched, and talked about so much that even_ I_ was starting to half-believe that farfetched myth about me concocting a love spell in a ten-foot tall cauldron full of bubbling turquoise vomit.

My face and arms had definitely gone through the mill, looking as if they had been punched, poked and slapped thoroughly and then rubbed raw with a whole tube of _Bacitracin_ and cucumber body lotion.

_Help me._

From the Fuji Syuusuke Club, I was named _worthless subject of blackmail_. From the Oishi Syuichiro Club, causing _unnecessary distress and disruption_. Tezuka Kunimitsu Club labeled me _social rapist_, while both Kaidoh and Momoshiro clubs weren't far behind, now accusing me of _vandalizing and infecting their (private) objects of affection_. Kikumaru's Club claimed that I had _wasted their idol's precious energy_ (in itself, an impossible thing to accomplish, as the tennis player had an unbounded amount of stamina and power when it came to glomping).

Luckily, I did not receive any anger and hate from the Rookie Ryoma Club. After all, the little freshman ace did not even bother to touch me throughout the process of my little mall scandal. Besides, his fanclub members – eventhe loud-mouthed Tomoka – were afraid of Chinatsu.

Rolling my eyes, I ignored the dirty look that Tezuka's Fanclub's President's Right Hand Woman gave me, and went back to figuring out the stupid conjugating components that I had missed on the previous English test. Tanaka-sensei had threatened me with two weeks of detention with the hated _art professor_ and a separate month of yard duty. Did I mention that I'm artistically inept, too?

And – oh, yes – _he_ was crouched behind the bookshelf in front of me.

I'm not oblivious, you know.

I have no idea why the guy is paying so much attention to me now. Because of my lack of physical talent at any club sport, I've never been popular with the jocks. And, because of my disability in solving any problem without numbers involved and my insubordinate behavior in class, the staff were none-too thrilled with me either.

Anyway.

Yeah, so I could tell he was staring at me, his glasses glinting in the muted lights of the ceiling fan.

Somehow, I didn't find it as creepy as before.

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**A/N: A filler. I'm so boring, aren't I? Oh, well. I posted this fic without a real definite idea. And, to tell the truth, I don't think the idea is developing that well. And, recently, I've seen some more InuiOC fics popping up, so I guess my grand plan was a bit pushed aside. Never mind. I'll keep writing...provided that I not become discouraged by next week's track meets and me trying to skip another grade in math.**

**Thank you for reading! File a review, please? Thanks for all those loverly reviews I received for the last chappie. :)**


	5. Chinatsu Falls

**Now, wasn't that fast? I typed it up all today. I'm very happy with myself, though I think there might be a few errors in there...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own PoT.**

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When I was young, I used to flash a happy and innocent _we-haven't-met-before-but-can-we-be-best-friends?_ smile at everyone that I intercepted along the sidewalk. Once in a while, some sentimental senior citizens and a couple of belittling college students would send a minuscule, sparkling smile back at me, but for the most part people just ignored the euphorically-demented girl, coughed, and brushed past without making any eye contact.

I didn't do it anymore when I turned eleven. A rather awkward scene had ensued when I gave a toothy smile to a middle-aged, sad-looking man (he stalked me to the traffic light at the end of the avenue, from which I escaped him by cleverly hiding behind a flock of overenthusiastic cross-country bikers).

So what was I doing now, grinning like an idiot, at most everyone on the block?

If anything, I should be feeling a little remorseful.

Actually, make that _a lot_ more remorseful.

But it was too comical to be of any serious business.

What I did surely deserved the highest degree of karma. I will probably be eternally damned by my friend (that is, if China-chan can still call me a _friend_).

I'd inadvertently (okay, maybe it was intentional, but I _swear_ I didn't mean to) left Chinatsu, emo-cover blown and true-self exposed, to rot at the mercy of the entire of the student body. In short, I had embarrassed her to the point where Chinatsu would certainly blow her cap off, when she wakes up.

We had a quaint, petty spat before I left to go home, Chinatsu and I. She had been nagging me to stop trying to skitter off to the tennis courts (there was something I left in the locker rooms during gym class) and focus on catching the attention of Furuka Ichiro. We were testing out her new brand of Instant-Poof Hairspray, and it's effect on the male population.

"You can't go wrong, not with that hot skirt you're wearing," Chinatsu adjusted my top, and patted me on the back for reassurance.

I think it would be helpful to mention, here, that I resemble a stick with breasts. I'm taller than more than three-fourths of the population at Seigaku. Some people might think that this is a very complementing figure, what with the big boobs and the slim hips (I can eat forever, and not show any signs of needing to update my waistline), but Chinatsu tells me that I must have Marfan Syndrome (or something equally horrifying). My elongated, long-boned limbs and gaunt, hollowed-out cheeks, coupled with sunken-brown eyes and thin lips made me look like a female version of Abraham Lincoln, the American president who got assassinated in 1865. My appearance was probably what had landed me as the school outcast in the first place.

I'm not kidding. I would swap with Chinatsu any day. She was, without a doubt, the _petite belle_ of Seigaku. I'm not going to waste any paragraphs describing my friend; I'll just leave it at three words: _she's too pretty_.

Not that I'm jealous or anything…all my problems were solved with, and I quote, "a dab of blush, a smacker of cherry gloss, and limited use of eyeliner."

So, here I was, all ready to march out and conquer the basketball giant Furuka (he was one of the few people that stood taller than my whopping 180 cm disposition), when I remembered that I had detention from not getting Tanaka-sensei's desired grade on my English quiz.

_Shit_. No again. I don't know what that horrid Gintama-sensei has planned for me today, but I do not want to get drenched in red poster paint. Or that sticky, expired-milk crap she calls "paper mâche".

Yesterday, I had devised a plan to decamp from this terrifying predicament. During lunchtime, I would hide out on the roof, and withhold myself from my dear bento. Right after my last class (Computer Science), I would feign a stomachache, demand that I must skip detention to go home right away (having _forgotten_ to pack something to eat at noon), and then make my exit.

Because of China-chan's abundant selfishness, I had forgotten about my great plot. I had consumed my lunch – and in the cafeteria, no less – so that a roomful of Seigaku students could stand witness if I stated otherwise.

"China-chan," I hissed, "I need to go home, _now_. This isn't about my PE shorts anymore."

"Nonsense! You need to help me test it out! I don't know whether or not I should buy one or two cans for your hair and I need this helpful bit of information to see if I should buy the hair mousse next time or maybe two bottles of that aloe shampoo to go with it," she said this all in one breath.

"No, I really, _really_ need to go home, China-chan. Please."

Then she started yelling at me.

"Mizutani Momoko!"

I sighed. Even if Chinatsu is blown up with this much rage, she refuses to acknowledge my real name. It's not like she doesn't know what's written on my birth certificate.

"I can't believe you! I thought that you had promised that you would help me out this time, remember? Or are you too stressed out about your _stupid_ basketball shorts? Oh, will you just _focus_ on this grave matter at hand? You said you would do it, _I_ didn't force you, did I?"

Too lazy to point out that I do not and never will play basketball (I am physically challenged, remember?) or that _yes_, I _was_ forced to do this, I opted for the most direct and satisfying solution, the one that I had saved up for in my most desolate hour.

Raising the strap of my book bag, I knocked her out. It worked on me at the mall; it'll work on Chinatsu, too.

_WHAM_.

Oh, dear. Actually, I don't think I should have done that…

Chinatsu, with a sense of dramatic, stunned silence, fell to the floor in front of the first wave of students exiting classes. Her black skirt flipped upwards and out, showing off a vermillion thong.

Oh, _crap._

_Now_ I'm in trouble. I watched as a group of intimidated freshmen gathered around the fallen girl, scared to touch her for fear of Chinatsu breaking out into another yelling fit.

I could hear the subtle murmurs of _"whore"_ and _"slut"_ among the tennis club fangirls as Kaneda Hiroko, pompous air in her tread, leads her fellow fanclub members through the students, parting them like the Moses at the Red Sea. They had all – albeit in small, furtive glances – seen Chinatsu's interesting choice of undergarment (needless to say, who wouldn't?).

And then I ran. Ran like the wind. There was no time to ask China-chan why she was wearing a _thong_.

China-chan will, without a doubt, _murder_ me when she regains consciousness.

Hopefully, by that time I will be in England.

I'm such a coward.

* * *

**A/N: Aren't we all, sometimes? This is sort of a filling-in chapter too. And it practically has nothing to do with the last chapter. But I PROMISE that the next chappie will make more sense. And, you know, I am making some hints in this chappie. But you won't know until you read the next one.**

**Okay. That was real confusing. Sorry. Forgive me. I think I'm kinda sick, but I still have a play performance tonight and two track meets next week (running the MILE...it sucks...).**

**Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	6. The List, part one

**I typed this one up real quick. I think I'm beginning to forget what I wrote in the first chapter.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

I got off the bus and hit the ground running. Dad was coming home early, and if I missed out on making him dinner, I'd probably have to spend the rest of the night listening to him and mom fight over my irresponsibleness. This wasn't a question of the thickness of our apartment walls.

"You know, if you keep running at this pace, the probability that you will become tired in the next fifteen minutes is 95. Of course, that's only when you round the margin of error over to the average amount of junior high female seniors who run at this speed, and they must be fourteen and exactly 180 cm – which is, by the way, exactly 4 cm shorter than me – and, not to mention, they must weigh exactly 112 pounds, as per –"

I stopped, looked up, panting, and the sidewalk blacked-out beneath me. My head crashed against the pavement, and the trees along the park swayed menacingly in my eyes.

He was muttering to himself again, and sketching something that looked suspiciously like a bell curve on a fresh page in his notebook of death.

"Why do you know how much I _weigh_?"

"I collect these things," he answered simply, and held out a hand.

Unsure, I took it, and immediately let go once I was standing.

"Um, thanks," I muttered, and then picked up my bag and started running again.

"Wait! Didn't you hear my carefully calculated observations! At this rate, you will probably crash into that tree along the –"

I hit my head on the trunk of a trembling aspen before he could go any further. What was he, some sort of bad omen? Every time I met him, I would start slamming into things. I guess I was dizzier than I thought.

Inui came jogging up behind me, this time forcibly shoving his arm into mine and bringing me up against the sidewalk.

"Are you okay?" His hand slipped, and before he could cover up the scribbles in his notebook, I took a peek.

"Your bell graph is inaccurate," I told him, "from all that crap you were spouting earlier, the curve should've been about 65 degrees higher from the terminating point. Because you are naturally assuming that the average height of girls my age is 163 cm, you should probably correct the intercepts, too."

I wasn't a math genius for nothing. It was the class where sensei doesn't give me sharp glares and incredulous sneers. I was the only one who did the extra-credit research on standard deviation and margin of error in processing statistics, and once a number entered my head it could never be erased.

He gave me a weird look, as if seeing me for the first time, and then chuckled, "It can't be. My data is very accurate."

Nonetheless, I saw him flip back to check on his graph, and correct the neatly-drawn curve with a tinge of red in his cheeks.

It was kinda cute.

Oh _dear_. I did _not_ just think that.

"I didn't know you studied higher-level statistics in Geometry I."

He was referring to the math course for stupid people. All the jocks and useless idiots took that course. Kikumaru Eiji was in it, for kami-sama's sake. Naturally, I was indignant.

"I'm in AP Statistics, idiot." The advanced placement course. I wasn't personally in Inui's class, but there were only twenty seats open annually in the two A and B class. It was for tensais only. Last year, only Fuji Syuusuke, Inui and I had made the cut for sophomore places. Fuji and Inui had ended up in B, I was placed in A. I remembered it, because it was about the only time dad was proud of me. You would think that, being the stalker and everything, that he would know this kind of stuff. But I wasn't really popular last year, and maybe I was able to slip under his radar.

"AP? Th-That's not possible, in my data, you're a total failure in all subjects, especially math! Y-You're a straight F-student!"

It was really kind of funny, seeing him sweat it out, standing there on the sidewalk while passersby gave him strange stares.

"Your data has been wrong," I reminded him, and then proceeded on an unsteady jog back to my house. If I was any later than I already was, I'd probably miss dinner as a whole.

"Wait –"

"…I have to go. I'm sorry to discontinue this enlightening conversation. Maybe we can discuss your data in detail some time later."

He stalked me to the apartment entry. I didn't mind. I knew the security guard would never let someone who looked liked him into the building.

Luckily, I was in time to make dinner and look like I've been home for ages.

That night, my head hurt. Really, really hurt. It might've been all the eye contact he gave me (I still couldn't get his eyes out of my head), or the surprised expression he wore when he learned of my position in AP Statistics.

So I made a list. I like making lists.

_As I have been a member of the human race in this world for the past fourteen years and eleven months, I am constantly reminded of the presence of Annoying People._

_Yes, the term is a bit uncreative and general, but this is what I will use to refer to such persons in the future. It is concise and self-explanatory, if not imaginative. _

_Annoying People_

_  
__Kirihara Akaya:__ You may be wondering why I even know the creep. Tennis camp, folks. Never again, never again. Because of my _excellent_ skills, I was forced to play with the sophomores. Not just mentally degrading. Physically and socially, too. Another reason to hate my dad. I am delighted to inform you that I have come to the knowledge that Kirihara thinks that I have no life. China-chan informed me this today during English class. She was telling him (I don't even _know_ how they know each other) that I had a 100 for my math grade average (I have a 99, by the way), and how that was the best grade in the class. Apparently, he then told her that I have no life. And that I was following her and Hanaka Tanako around during lunch. Well, I kind of _was_, but only because I needed their geography notes. _Hate _that maternal parental unit-f(iretr)ucking illegitimate child! And not just because he says that I have no life! He thinks that he's _so_ smart, and lets everyone know it, only it's the opposite. And he looks ugly, although that's just a minor detail. The only thing I kind of admire him in (and I am even sickened at the thought) is tennis._

_  
__Kikumaru Eiji:__ Don't even get me started. He. Is. The. Stupidest. Person. To. Walk. On. The face of Earth. _Not_ kidding. If I got paid a Hershey's Chocolate Kiss for every time he's done something stupid, I'd probably weigh four times my weight. Honestly, in every class he has to state the obvious, ask questions that have just been answered, get directions mixed up, invent a theorem and/or (usually "and", if you ask me) get about seventy billion eye-rolls/groans directed toward him, plus people banging their heads on tables in despair. If Kikumaru is any example of where humanity is going, I don't think that we're gonna survive past 2013. Maybe not even until then. And all those ridiculous "nya"s and "hoi"s. What does he think he is, a cat? He's a _guy_. A freaking _GUY_. Sometimes you see girls use "nya" in their sentences, but a guy?_

_  
__Takada Miho:__ I actually pity Takada quite a bit. She must have been seriously abused as a child to develop the criticizing, touchy-feely, abandonment-issue inclined person she is today. I mean, she's the clingiest thing since Velcro! She has to go _everywhere_ with you, tapping and nudging you so that she can put in her un-funny jokes and annoying criticisms. As long as I'm not in the same country with her, I'm good. Perhaps I can convince my parents to let me move to, say, Greenland?_

_  
__Horio:__ That idiot, annoying freshman. I don't even know his first name, and I'm not going to bother trying to find out. He's okay, for the most part, as long as he keeps his trap shut. Wait. Isn't that true for pretty much every Annoying Person? His stutter doesn't help either, even though I know it's not exactly his fault. I hate how he always calls out in class (I have him in PE) with idiotic questions and (often movie-related) comments. And that "two years of tennis experience" thing. No one cares. You got that, Horio? No one cares._

_Ryuzaki Sakuno:__ The Hair. It's so disgustingly dirty and messy and long that it deserves to be a proper noun. You might be confused here, as the little girl has such neat, smooth-looking braids. When she takes them down in the locker room, it's like a cyclone erupts. Chinatsu once told me that even Ryuzaki's _best friend_ says that she would like to take out a comb to brush out Sakuno's hair. (Cue violent combing-motion in air.) Don't we all. Me, I'd like to get a comb, some large scissors, a bottle of shampoo, and a slave to do that kid's coiffure. And the whiny, worry-wart voice over her precious Ryoma-kun is really nerve-racking, especially when combined with her endless prattling about random thoughts. I mean, when I have to sit next to her in staff aid and listen to her talk, __I __end up almost having a high-pitched voice._

_  
__Osakada Tomoka:__ Oh boy. Here we go. Another Endless Prattler (Is that a word? Never mind.) With a poor sense of humor. I have to chat with her every Wednesday when Math Team was going on (I don't even know why she joined, the girl doesn't know the difference between pi and pie). Good grief. Her high-pitched voice blabbering on and on about her personal life and Ryoma-sama's greatness is enough to drive anyone insane. It's a miracle that I survived for this long with no serious long-term damage._

_Fuji Syuusuke:__ Never-ending, smiling face. Sometimes I wish he would crash into a wall. That'll teach him for walking around all the time with his eyes closed. Maybe I sound a bit jealous, but I kind of hate him for his freakishly good skills...in everything. Tennis, science, history, tennis, geography, English, tennis, even math…is there anything the boy _can't_ do? Personality wise, he's a great guy, but I think he sounds so much like a girl. I wonder if he's been cross-dressing since he was young. It's definitely possible. He's always the last one in and out of the boys' locker room._

I fell asleep after that. It felt rather exhausting writing it all down, and I didn't mean half the things I said (especially not the stuff about Kikumaru and Fuji), but I guess I just needed some place to vent.

* * *

**A/N: I think you can already guess what's gonna happen to that list. Yup. It's a disaster waiting to happen. The voice of the list doesn't sound like me at all, does it? Well, my ochibi actually composed a list like that. I sorta based it off her.**

**That thing about Fuji cross-dressing, it's actually from mesmerizedbyceruleaneyes' fic, Who Am I. It's about Fuji being a girl. Awesomeness. Go read it!**

**Thank you for reading! Now, kindly submit a review! I need some criticism.**


	7. Clubbing

**Yes, clubbing. I have gone completely, utterly mad. Read at your own risk.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything PoT.**Sometimes, I wonder if Chinatsu is just a robot in human skin. No emotions, no thoughts or feeling.

* * *

She had forgiven me without batting an eye. Any well-being would find that rather scary. Even now, my best friend (once more) was making us go through the normal daily ritual of wasting forty-five minutes for makeup. I was sitting on her bed, watching her apply sheets of liquid and cream to her face and then blotting it all out over and over again, trying to get it _just right_. She'd already spent the first half of our session fretting over my face, spoiling half a bottle of navy blue nail polish and about three times that of nail polish remover, wasting three-quarters of a pad of fresh skin-toned blush (I often wondered what the point of _skin-toned blush _was), and a third of her rosy pink lipstick. I thanked kami-sama that her parents were rich beyond rich and didn't mind their daughter denting the family fortune with her shopping expeditions – if dad ever found out that_ his_ daughter was blowing money away for looks, he'd probably hire someone to kill him right then and there.

China-chan daubed some more cherry lip gloss on her already-scarlet lips, brushed a bit more of her overused pale blue eye shadow over her thin eyelids, posed in front of her wall mirror, and finally turned to face me with excitement etched all across her features.

"Let's go clubbing!"

_Are you crazy? We're in junior high, dammit!_

Maybe this was my punishment.

Seeing the pained look on my face, Chinatsu turned on her puppy-dog eyes.

"Please, Momo-chan! It'll be so awesome!"

Oh, _please_.

"Like the time we went to the mall?"

She frowned, "No, this will be a _totally_ different experience. I promise you'll have _so _much fun!"

I opened my mouth to protest, but China-chan cut across before I could say anything else, "You have to be at least eighteen to go in."

"Chinatsu, do you actually know how old I am? I mean, I'm starting to doubt that you're actually fourteen and everything…how can you even think of going to a stupid club when we're still in our last year of junior high? You are crazy, you –"

She sighed. "Momo-chan, I promise it'll be okay! They don't check for IDs, and we're both tall and mature"– I coughed –"enough to look eighteen. Well, at least you're tall enough, I'll have to wear my stilettos or something, but I _promise_ it'll be the best night of your life!"

"You sure are making a lot of promises these days," I muttered to myself.

"The club has one of those restricted age limits, where you can't enter if you're above a certain age."

"And that restricted age would be…?"

She bit her lip, "Um…thirty-five?"

You've got to be kidding me.

"No. _No_."

"Oh, please?"

"No."

"Please!"

"Nope."

"_Pleeease?"_

"What part of 'no' _don't _you get?"

"Well, I've always wanted to answer that question…"

I heaved a breath before she could go on, "okay, fine. But we're not staying past nine."

"The club _opens _at nine!"

"Do you _want_ my parents to skin me alive when I get home two in the morning?"

"We'll say you're having a sleepover at my house or something. Nii-san will cover for both of us."

I didn't trust Chinatsu's older brother a bit. The perverted bastard had tried to grope me the last time I visited China-chan's house.

"All right."

"_YAY!_" She glomped me while I grimaced.

I hate my big mouth.

"This will be the wildest night of your life!"

I had a sick feeling in my stomach as my friend flipped her phone open to call my parents and invite some more girls from our school. This was not going to end well.

--

The club looked like what any club would. A dim, musty, large-enough-to-be-a-clubroom basement of a normal-looking brick building. We entered from one of those ancient, creaking basement staircases from the sidewalk. The steps were all caked with mud and dirt accumulated from a thousand years. At the bottom, situated right before the entrance, stood of pair of gruff-looking bodyguard-type men. Suits, crew-cuts, the whole works. They looked like they belong to the NPA or something of the sort. Were these guys really _bouncers_? The one on the right gave me the once-over and let me in with a nod of his head. Nervous, I tottered into the room on the strappy six-inch sandals Chinatsu gave me.

The interior of the basement was, if anything, definitely not drab. It was almost like an alternate universe from the outside. Multicolored, flashing lights swung around the room from a set of large lighthouse-sized lights, momentarily blinding me. The walls were still the same brick material as outside, but littered with outrageous American rock-band posters, advertisements, graffiti, paint splashes (drunken artistic interpretations, perhaps?), and a stark red, blood-like stain that directed a shiver down my spine. Loud, blaring music shot out of a large set of black speakers near the DJ's table. (The guy was obviously in a bad mood. He was taking his anger out on the discs and pressing the sound equalizer buttons with a pained look on his face.) The dance floor was crowded, but not to an undesirable point. The night was still young. And then there was the bar, and a lieu of booths along the edge of the wall. Most were filled with half-drunk couples making out, others with drug dealers hanging around trying to hawk off their goods. And this was a "safe" club? Chinatsu is completely nuts to even _think _of this place. But there was no point in trying to leave. The only way out was the way in, and China-chan would obviously just pull me back in if I tried to escape.

I waited for China-chan to come in. There was some trouble regarding her height until she flashed her breasts at the bouncer nearest her. I was going to make a disdainful remark when she entered, but she had a dark look in her eyes when she buttoned-up her thin-fabric, wine red blouse.

"Let's go," she muttered, and led me off in the direction of the bar, not waiting for the rest of the girls to catch up with us (I was actually relieved, as Takada Miho was among them).

I couldn't argue. Not with that dangerous look she gave me. I kept trying to avert my gaze from her beet red face, but somehow couldn't.

We sat down at the bar counter. Chinatsu ordered a coke with ice, and I waited for the rest of our party to settle down before telling the barman that I wanted some mineral water. As expected, Takada latched onto my arm immediately, and started making unnecessarily perverted jokes in my ear. Marufuji Tomoya (the "wild" one) grabbed a bunch of shot glasses filled with kami-sama-knows-what and tried to make everyone play a drinking game with her. Hanaka Tanako (the one and only class valedictorian from Oishi Syuichiro fanclub) started a break-dancing contest with Chinatsu. Even Kaneda Hiroko had come along, chattering with her friends. I hadn't expected Chinatsu to invite basically all of our classmates, but then again, she knew a lot of people and made many friends from all her previous fraternization with the tennis fanclubs.

The rest of the night went unexpectedly fast. I fled from some old men that claimed they knew me, guarded my drink, resisted attempts of forced rape by drunks, guarded my drink, attempted to escape through a toilet window (Chinatsu, having regained her dignity, told me to just "sit down, _dammit_"), guarded my drink, and went to the bathroom to wash my face three times (China-chan ignored my "petty misbehavior" and reapplied the makeup, ears smoking). More than once, Chinatsu had tried to pull me to the dance floor, but I always held onto my booth seat, shielding my water glass from any ill-intended claws.

It wasn't until midnight when the trouble started.

Maybe I hadn't watched my drink carefully enough, but I was beginning to feel rather dizzy from just sitting there and sipping my mineral water. The lights were all taking on a fluffy, cloudlike texture. The darkness was drilling into my tired eyes. I wasn't really sleepy, but my head hurt, hurt like a thousand nails were being repeatedly beaten into my skull. Every bit of my hair was being pulled. Every brain cell zapped with some sort of electrical current. I felt like I was burning. Not burning, in a sense of Kawamura's power tennis, but burning, in a sense that there was a possibility I was actually combusting.

I turned around.

Good kami-sama…

I _am _on fire.

* * *

**A/N: And now I choose to end this chappie, a cliffy of sorts. To tell the truth, I have no idea what's going to happen next. I have the general story idea planned out, but these little details? No idea.**

**I have never been in a real club before. I'm only thirteen, for God's sake. Do you really expect me to do something like that? Everything I know about clubs comes from Health Class videos and romance novels. So, if I've gotten everything wrong, tell me POLITELY. I'm an amateur. I acknowledge that.**

**So, what could it be? Spontaneous combustion? A cigarrette gone awry? Keep guessing. I am too.**

**Thank you for reading.**

**As always, review. Someone cleverly suggested that I'm a review whore. I guess, in a way I am. There's no shame in it. I crave reviews. It'll better my own writing (as long as it's not meaningless praise or ignorant flames...).**


	8. Big Girls Do Happen to Enjoy Crying

**I have 2 vote for continuing, 1 vote for discontinuing. Still accepting votes, but as for right now, something else I needed to vent about.**

**I swear, this'll be the last one in a while, unless if you STRONGLY disagree about me discontinuing. Then you should probably PM me.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own any charries here. 'Cept my own.**

* * *

_There are so many different, distinct personalities within me; perhaps even too many. It's really confusing and a pain when I have a serious inner conflict. Everyone probably feels that way-- torn between duty and freedom, sweetness and rebellion-- but I always think that I get that sensation a lot more than others._

_Ah well. That's just part of me and I just have to accept it. _

_In PE, Gan-sensei forced every participant to shoot three-pound medicine balls into standard-height basketball hoops in the gym. _So_ stupid. I figured that lots of people, like me, would be seriously basketball-challenged, and that if we humored her for long enough, she'd just let us go. But no. Through sheer determination and/or dumb luck every person managed to shoot a medicine ball through the hoop. Except me. Not funny. _

_Ryuzaki Sakuno kept yelling helpful tips at me, such as "Use the power in your legs, not your arms!" and "Push it higher! Higher!" I didn't listen, 'cause she cheated on the challenge by faking a stomachache. Besides, she couldn't even serve a tennis ball over the net. Even _I_ can do that. So there._

_Takada suggested slightly different tactics, which I know she meant well with, but were no less helpful than Sakuno's. "Believe in yourself! You can do it! Mulan didn't think that she could climb to the top of the pole, but she did!"_

_To this, I replied with, "That was _Mulan_!" Takada then suggested that I shut up. Takashima-sensei, the film studies director, must have been showing a lot of that movie lately._

_Jumping as high as I could, I shoved the blasted ball as far into the air as possible. Needless to say, it gaily rose up toward the net and missed it by about half a foot, smacking the overly-waxed gym floor with a cheerful thud. This process repeated itself several times._

_Finally, probably dying to go home where she wouldn't have to tolerate hopeless medicine-ball shooters, Gan-sensei informed me that I "could just leave". _

_I dashed to the locker room. Sounds of "Did you make it? Did you make it?" buzzed into my ears like a swarm of summer mosquitoes. _

_"Nah," I replied with a shrug. _

_I changed out of my t-shirt and sweats. All the while, I felt a mix of relief that I could just go home without a fuss, and a stab of fury that I had to rely on pity to get out of the gym. A part of me screamed in disappointment that I hadn't declared to Gan-sensei that I wanted to keep shooting until the stupid ball went through the net. Another part of me whispered to me that I should just be grateful that I didn't have to stay there, trying to shoot the medicine ball for the rest of eternity in front of her._

_I locked up my stuff and pulled my roller backpack from the locker. Trying not to cry, I walked to the bathrooms and ripped a piece paper towel from the roller. As I sat down on a bench to blow my nose and wipe my eyes, I could hear the last of the PE class girls leaving. I was alone. With the rough towel and an even rougher hand behind it, I scrubbed my face free of any mucus or salty tears._

_I remembered how China-chan had showed us all her iPod before the meet yesterday. "Ooh! _Big Girls Don't Cry_!" Marufuji Tomoya squealed when she saw her songs._

_"But big girls do cry," I pointed out, "Crying is a perfectly good way to relieve yourself of your feelings." _

_"Do _you_ cry?" Takada Miho asked nosily. _

_"Yes, I do," I confessed without shame. I do cry. A lot. But in private, where no one can see me and offer their gazes of pity and inquiries of "What's wrong?"_

_"But are you a big girl?" Hanaka Tanako teased. _

_I don't know. I don't know if I'm a big girl. What is a big girl anyway? But if big girls can't cry, than I'm not sure that I want to be one. I might hate to cry in front of other people, because it's a sign of weakness, but it feels good after I cry when I need to.  
I threw away the paper towel and headed outside to walk home. And as I left the school, I wondered if I liked having people around. Because I always feel alone. It's just a matter of whether I'm alone in an empty room or alone in a room full of people._

That same feeling, of just deep and utter shame, enveloped me in the club. I was so alone, and so dizzy. Drove me right off the deep end, that did.

So did the alcohol fire. Apparently, some fat jerk thought it fun to wet my white tank top and reveal my bra underneath, with 99 flammable whiskey.

Yeah. Things sort of went downhill from there.

The fire patrol came, splashed a fifty-pound compressed canister of fire-extinguishing foam on me (effectively smothering the fire, yet crushing the breath out of me in the process).

I was so sure I was going to die.

Chinatsu pressed the speed dial on her cell phone to send her chauffeur from the house for the two of us (Takada Miho detached), a grim smile etched across her stony features. I had ruined her night.

"Momo-chan, it's alright," she patted my burned and blanket-wrapped back – I winced – "It's alright…we're going home now."

I think she was comforting herself more than she was trying to soothe me.

"Chinatsu, I'm really sorry for this to happen," I bit my lip, trying to negate the effects of the pain her caring little pats were causing.

"That's alright, Momo-chan, it's not your fault. You were right about not coming. I'm sorry for dragging you all the way here."

It was at this point that Inui chose to show up. Don't ask me how he got here, I have no idea. It must be a nighttime stalking routine, or something of the sort.

Chinatsu's mouth dropped down at the sight of the boy, clutching his notebook like a lifeline and mumbling x and y values to himself.

"S-Sadaharu! What are you doing here?"

Since when were they on such familiar terms? A pang, different from the ones on my back, slid down my chest like an ice cube.

He looked up from his notes.

There was a simple answer to her question. Even _I_ knew it.

"Data."

Never question the data master.

China-chan's chauffeur arrived. Between the two of them, Inui and Chinatsu carried me home.

I ended up staying up until three to do all the sudokus in Chinatsu's horoscope magazines anyways. Recently, a lot of accidents have been happening to me. It was so weird. There has to be some logical reason behind all of this. Some connection between all of these events. I had never been as clumsy as I was now. I never let my guard down, observing my surroundings enough to make even Tezuka proud.

Am I going crazy?

* * *

**A/N: Am I going crazy? I believe so. A filler. Sorta. This chapter has GIANT hints as to the big plot of the story (yes, this story DOES have a plot).**

**As always, thanks for reading through, and please be kind to leave a review. Vote in the poll. Make my day.**


	9. The List, part two

**I have learnt a lesson. I will, from now on, never attempt to write any fics but crack during my finals. It's been insane, I tell you.**

**Disclaimer: I do not have ownership over an PoT charries.**

**This chapter has three titles. It was just going to be "The List, Part II", but then I wouldn't be able to mention the significant points in here. This chappie is one of the big turning points of the story. Sort of. Oh, I don't know.**

**And also FujiEiji yaoi, if you want to look at it that way (I am not).**

**The List, Part II - Fuji's Tears - A Date?**

* * *

It's afternoon, English class. I am day-dreaming, doodling on my half-finished term paper and trying to pick a piece of lint out of my skirt at the same time.

"Nya, what is the meaning of this?"

The cat-boy speaks. An awkward slash through the tranquility of Tanaka-sensei's sleep-inducing drone.

I ignore him.

"I said, nya, what is the _meaning _of _this_?"

He jumps in front of my face, and brandishes a photo-copied sheet of paper. His sweaty hands have stained the edges, and the writing is blurry. Curious, I peered around his fingers at the page of writing.

_As I have been a member of the human race in this world for the past fourteen years and eleven months, I am constantly reminded of the presence of Annoying People._

_Yes, the term is a bit uncreative and general, but this is what I will use to refer to such persons in the future. It is concise and self-explanatory, if not imaginative. _

_Annoying People_

Ha…funny, the writing looks rather familiar…

Oh, no. Oh, crap. Ohcrapohcrap.

With surprising speed and agility that rivaled his own, I snatched the page out of the Eiji's hand, "_Where did you get this?_"

He rolled his eyes, snatched the paper back and slapped the sheet down (with an unnecessary dramatic air) onto my desk, "It's posted all around the school, nya. You're so, so dead…"

I grabbed my backpack, and started flipping frantically through it. I remembered leaving the list in there the day I made it…how did it get into someone else's hands? Desperate, I upturned the entire affair onto the floor. The whole class turned away from sensei's lecture and stared at me. Books and half-chewed pencils came raining down, along with a whole bag of peach-flavored fruit chews and China-chan's secondary emergency makeup kit. The list was no where to be seen. Shit.

Kikumaru picked up my fruit chews, stuffed half of them into his mouth, and continued the side commentary.

"Hrm…And I am _not stupid_! I'm just a little more interested in other things like tennis than stupid math and boring science. Why can't you understand that? And why do you hate Fujiko? He's so nice to everyone – y-you're just jealous because he gets better grades and is so much better-looking than you!"

Ouch. That hurt.

I let out a sigh, "I was _venting_, okay? I was really pissed off that day. I'm sorry if I insulted you. I didn't really _want_ to offend you…"

Eiji's eyes bugged out of their sockets, "_Offend?_ You really, really hurt my feelings, Momo-chan!"

I stopped my self-abusive confession to stare at him.

He. Called. Me. _Momo-chan_.

"I'm sorry, _what _did you just call me?"

He wasn't paying attention, "Momo-chan, do you _have_ to make a big deal out of everything? You're such a spazz."

I jumped up, pushed him in the chest, _hard_. Hard enough for him to fall, landing, with a soft _whump_, like a broken rag doll on his butt. Everyone in the class, even the previously-oblivious Tanaka-sensei, was staring at us.

"No one, I repeat, _no one_, calls me 'Momo-chan' but people who I am friends with," I snarled, glaring daggers down his stupid red-head, "and I am NOT friends with you. _You got that?_"

Kikumaru got up, brushed himself off, and glared back, "Nya, well, maybe _you _shouldn't talk about people behind their backs!"

--

The rest of the day went about as smooth as that. Ryuzaki Sakuno broke down crying in the freshman hallway (her hair was, incidentally, smooth and sleek and out of the braids just for Ryoma-kun today), while her friend Tomoka patted her back and shot me with glares and bursts of flames in her eyes. Horio was acting ridiculously sober and didn't speak for the entire lunch period (I'll admit that it was actually kind of lonely without his loud voice). I thought I saw _tears_ in Fuji's eyes (talk about overreaction?), and overheard him walk up to the math teacher and plead for him to lower his semester A+. That really pissed me off. He was perfect enough to be able to lower his grade in AP Statistics for me. But then again, the boy was crying.

Am I really that harsh? It's not like I _really_ questioned his gender.

Taka-san had a whole basket of sushi that he passed around to everyone during lunch – it somehow missed my table. Momoshiro averted his eyes and didn't wave hello when we passed each other in the hall. Kaidoh's hiss seemed to concentrate in strength when I accidentally brushed past him on the way to PE. Tezuka was about to order me to run laps before he realized that I wasn't part of the tennis club (about half the school is involved in tennis, so it was an easy mistake). Even Echizen Ryoma had something in for me. His cat followed him to school, and (I _swear_) he ordered the furry nuisance to attack me when I tried to go on the roof for some quietness.

To my dismay, Takada Miho chose to not believe the contents of the list ("It's all blackmail, Momo-chan! Why would you _ever_ say anything bad about _me_?"), and latched on even tighter.

By the end of the day, a terrible ache had settled in my gut. It only worsened when Inui walked up behind me and started taking notes on my strange behavior. He had somehow managed to claim a photocopy of his own, even though the lists had all been taken down before lunch, by a fingernail-biting China-chan (I noticed, with a little disgust and a little admiration, that it was color-coded and annotated).

When I turned around to ask him to kindly _stop_ harassing me, his hands landed – _gently_ – on my shoulders.

A sharp, almost painful tingle went down my spine. I stuttered.

"W-What do you want, Inui-kun?"

"Why did you create such a list? I've never seen any results like this, before."

I breathed out, and caught a nostril-full of his obscure minty scent. Always the data man.

"Mizutani-san. Fuji is _crying_. How did you do that? Through all these years, I've only seen him cry for his brother. Not even for any of us. Why, now tell me, would he cry for someone like _you_?"

I had no answer to that.

After school, I saw Kirihara stalk up the front entrance steps to the main office, a furious look etched all over his features. Fearing more rants and retaliating insults, I fled the crime scene.

--

I saw Fuji walking by himself, balancing a heavy backpack and a tennis bag on one shoulder, his other hand supporting a math book. The tensai was immersed in the Margin of Error section (there was a test on it tomorrow afternoon). I ran to catch up to him on the concrete sidewalk, breathless and backpack bouncing on my back.

"Fu—Fuji…"

His head lifted from the book, his eyes opened to reveal those sharp, striking blue eyes. He acknowledged my presence by giving a small, weak smile.

"Good afternoon, Mizutani-san."

"Fuji-kun…I have to apologize. I'm really sorry, and I didn't mean half the things I wrote down on that stupid list!"

He looked surprised, "What list?"

It was my turn to be confused, "What do you mean, _what _list? _You_ know, the one that I wrote – did I say that I didn't mean to write any of it – the one that was posted all around the school? The one that Ryuzaki Sakuno, Osakada Tomoka, Horio and Kikumaru are all so upset about?"

At the mention of Eiji, Fuji's features seemed to harden and angle themselves.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't seen anyone all morning."

Annoyance fluttered across his face. I was losing ground.

"I saw you crying over it," I insisted, "and you were asking sensei to alter your math grade."

He brushed hair out of his forehead, and looked at me straight in the eye, "The math grade was for the surveying project, not for a list."

"But –"

"And I wasn't crying." Blue eyes flashed dangerously.

And then I heard him mutter, to himself, "And most certainly not for Eiji."

I backpedaled, "N-No, I must have been hallucinating. Fuji-kun, of course you wouldn't cry! Haha—just what am I thinking?"

When I walked away, I was still not sure I understood what was happening.

--

Inui made things more clear. As I was walking towards the bus station, he melted out of a nearby honeysuckle bush and clasped his notebook shut.

"Fuji…he and Eiji have a very close relationship. They've known each other for probably their entire lives.

"They have their own little story before Seishun Gakuen. A story that I'm still trying to uncover."

And then he cleared his throat, and a string of barely-intelligible words came rushing out of his mouth, "Would you like to aid me in this investigation?"

I gazed at him curiously, "You mean, help you?"

"W-Well…not that you have to, I mean, it's just that you have very good calculating abilities…and obviously very observant to your surroundings – what I mean to say is, you have the makings of a data collector. So, if we can meet sometime – you don't have to if you don't want to – and discuss data?"

I was so astonished, that I said something that I wouldn't have said in a million years (and something that I would regret for another million years).

"_Are you asking me out?_"

* * *

**A/N: So, IS he asking her out? Wait and see...**

**I think that the story's beginning to take more structure. I'm glad I didn't discontinue it. And now, if I can only figure out why Fuji got so emotional over Eiji...**

**Thank you for reading! Please review!**

**Oh, yes. And I want to share a YouTube AMV with you guys: Syuusuke Fuji: Dance With Me (by tsayan). One of the BEST AMVs I have ever seen. I normally wouldn't do this, but this one really got me...right there. It made me fall in love with Fuji all over again. (sighs)**


	10. The Fangirl Awakens

**This'll be the last one in a while. I am now confirming my two-month hiatus. Check my profile or PM me for more info.**

**Disclaimer: As ever, not mine.**

* * *

"_Are you asking me out?"_

The question rolled through my mouth with such lightning speed that I wondered if this was what I had been planning all along. It was almost like a natural reflex. Horrified, I clamped my jaws together and bit my lip.

Wait.

Did I just say that out _loud_?

It wasn't as if I really liked Inui, or anything.

Right?

I shook my head to clear up all the messy thoughts. Voicing this thought had clearly been a bad idea.

_Right?_

Inui was taken aback, and blinked about five times before breaking out into an interrogation fit.

"Why would you ever think that, Maruko-san? Do my gestures appear as if I'm asking you out on a date? Do all girls your age respond like this if I ask a question of this nature? Why does this seem like a date proposal? If you wish for me to back off, Maruko-san, by all means I would…"

"No," I cut him off firmly and then took in a breath of air, my mouth suddenly dry, "It's because…"

Because _what_?

"I-I…think I like you, Inui-san."

I wanted to mentally punch myself. Was this a confession that I had just made? This was something I would have never done, never. But it had just come out of my mouth. I'd just confirmed that I had a crush on Inui Sadaharu.

And then an even bigger lump formed in my cerebral hemisphere. This is _Inui Sadaharu_ we're talking about. Resident smart ass. Data man. The environmentally-damaging juice-maker, for kami-sama's sake.

His face was impassive and silent as he digested this information. I couldn't look at him properly, and gazed down at my shoes. What was wrong with me today?

Trying to gather more courage, I swallowed and stuck my chin up.

I stared at him, at his crazily-spiked hair, his quirked brows that suggested a slight puzzlement. His features seemed to blare out at me, and my eyes took it all in, almost hungrily.

After a full three minutes of silence, I accepted his stunned rejection without any comment.

It didn't take an idiot to figure out that he wasn't interested.

If Inui had been any other guy, I would've slapped him already, right there on the cheek. It was what China-chan would've done.

But he was _Inui_.

And, also very cute.

_Okay, that's enough of that._

"But…why?" And so he asks the question.

Did there have to be an explanation for something you just _feel_?

"Take off your glasses," I demanded.

"No," a blunt, curt response.

"Y-Your eyes," I repeated what I had said that day at the mall, "they're…blue."

Blue. And –oddly– beautiful.

"No, they're not."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Then prove it."

He sighed, "Okay, if I do, you have to promise to not tell anyone what you. You got that? No one. Not even Chinatsu."

I nodded earnestly, eager to direct the subject away from my awkward confession and partly curious, "I promise."

He took a long minute to survey the surroundings and make sure that there were no possible stalking positions and suspicious people hanging around. I swung my head around, too, for good measure. Nope. Nothing but the grass and trees, sidewalk was empty save for a few loose newspapers blowing in the wind and some kid's lost cap.

And he took them off. Tugged his tightly-wedged black frames right off the bridge of his nose.

I held my breath.

"Are you happy now?"

Blue irises, sharp, blue ones stared back at me.

And then he did something else that really surprised me. He waved a hand over his eyes and I heard a little muffled _plop!_ as he popped the eyeballs right out of their sockets.

I gasped, and screamed…but only started laughing when he pulled his hands away.

His eyes…they were green, now.

I think I heard myself heave a sigh of relief.

"I have another pair of contact lenses on," his lips curled into a smile at my expression, "would you like me to take those off, too?"

I smiled, "No. It's okay. You really _are_ evasive, Inui Sadaharu."

Oh, kami-sama, I've really fallen for him. Bright eyes, baggy green sweats, the whole package. I never thought it possible, but I have.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in a café, discussing his recent notes on Fuji Syuusuke's behavior. The conversation, even in its lulls, never directed itself back to my confession. I was partially happy about that, but also felt a little melancholy towards his unrequited affection. Oh, well. I can hardly do anything about the feelings some guy has toward me.

I noticed (and I really shouldn't have) how he pulled out a chair for me before seating himself down, and asked the waitress for my favorite drink (pineapple juice) before I had to open my mouth. Being a data collector does have its perks. The juice did have a weird vegetable taste to it, and the seat a little sticky spot on the bottom, but the gestures meant a lot to me. It was almost like we were going out.

_Almost._

In the middle of our conversation, while we were talking about the growth patterns of Fuji's fangirl club, I suggested something that seemed like a perfectly good and sensible idea.

"Inui-san, would _you_ like a fanclub?"

His face turned blank, swiped away of thought, as he mumbled, dejectedly, "I don't understand why I don't have one already, I mean, it's not as if I don't have excellent tennis skills, or well-defined genius, and my looks aren't…"

I coughed before he could start on his personal appearance.

"_I _could be your fangirl."

He quickly declined the offer, but I could see that the idea had buried its roots in his head.

"I—I didn't know you like that sort of thing."

"But I think you deserve a fanclub."

"Well, that's true, but, I mean, it would be adding unnecessary burdens…it'll also complicate our relationship."

I liked the sound of those words. _Our relationship_.

"Oh, I don't mind."

"Well…whatever you say."

And that settled the matter. The talk went back to Fuji's recent test scores.

Before we went our separate ways at the end of our data session, I grabbed his arm. It had been bugging me quite a bit, I'll admit.

"Inui-san, i—is it okay, if I call you Sadaharu?"

He replied with a shrug.

"I don't really care."

* * *

**A/N: More hints. And, of COURSE I'm not ending it here! The first part of the story is done, the rest is yet to come. This is just the starting point.**

**But, before that...the hiatus. Two-months, guys. Sorry for the delays...however, I'll still be frequenting the forums, my blogs, and etc. And (maybe) a one-shot in the middle. But this story is GOING ON HIATUS.**

**Okay.**

**Thanks for reading! Please give a review!**


	11. When Kikumarus Attack

**And, ezyl is BAAACK!**

**Disclaimer: Nope. I can't even rally a tennis ball properly, do you really think I'd own this? o.o"**

* * *

"Momoko-san…"

I smirked, but frowned when I realized he'd used my nickname anyways.

"What now, Kikumaru?"

The annoyance in my voice was probably a bit too much for cat-boy. His hands instinctively reached his hips, but then abruptly slackened as he cocked his red-head and muttered a muffled, "I-I'm sorry, nya."

A grin appeared on my face. So this was what Oishi Syuichiro, cat-boy's doubles partner had been angry about all morning. I had heard him scolding a sober-faced Eiji in the empty English classroom before the end of last period – something about disrespectfulness to classmates, embarrassing and abusing a role as a popular student, and sexism. I didn't catch everything, being in a hurry to escape China-chan's third forced attempt at makeup retouching, but it was clear that Oishi had been furious with Eiji, and Eiji had stopped _nya_-ing every three seconds.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that," I tried to keep a giggle from escaping my mouth, "could you repeat, what you said, _louder?_"

The acrobat's face was redder than a ripe tomato in my grandmother's vegetable garden, as his head twisted upwards and he yelled, "I'M SORRY…A-ABOUT EATING ALL YOUR GUMMY CANDIES, MOMO-CHAN!"

"Really," the smirk on my face was stretching, as I noticed the lunchroom monitor look up from his newspaper with a concerned expression, "and that's all? What a waste of time."

The red-haired boy was about to give a nasty retort, when an arm clapped around his shoulder, and a stern-sounding voice, "Eiji…apologize. Now."

Ha.

"Okay, nya…"

I waited while he took a deep breath, looked in Oishi's eyes for reassurance, and then glanced back down at his toes, "Mizutani-san, I-I apologize for being so rude to you yesterday, a-and yelling at you."

"And…?" I prompted.

"…and for calling you 'Momo-chan'," he whispered, and then ran off towards the boys' bathroom, his face a nimbus storm cloud about to erupt. His doubles partner chased after him, calling his name.

I stared in amusement, watching the Golden Pair together. Eiji was now weeping rivers on Oishi's school shirt, while the other boy held him with a…a…loving look sketched all over his face as he caressed Kikumaru's hair, looking all the world like a reassuring boyfriend.

My first thought: _That Kikumaru…he is_ such_ a child._

And then: _Dear kami-sama, they couldn't be actually _doing it_ together, could they?_

Oh, the many curious mind workings of a self-acclaimed fangirl. A blush appeared on my cheeks when I thought of Inui doing anything like that.

Who would Inui _do_, anyways?

A _fshhh_ sounded at a nearby lunch table. My blush deepened when Kaidoh Kaoru came to mind. It was a possibility…

There was always Yanagi Renji, too. Sadaharu had once told me about him, and his meticulous methods at procuring data. From Inui's nonchalant-yet-not-so-nonchalant tone, he had sounded like a rival, until I found out that they were great friends, and had once played doubles in tennis together. That is, until…

Yanagi left Inui.

It was what China-chan had told me, at least, when she was gossiping about some of Seigaku's rival schools (and their own list of hot boys). I had also heard from China-chan that Renji had a girlfriend, too, or something like that.

Someone coughed in front of me.

"Mizutani-san, could I have a word with you?"

It was Fuji Syuusuke. I wondered what such a popular boy would want with me, and then remembered the icy glare he had emitted across the entire cafeteria during Kikumaru and Oishi's little hurt/comfort scene.

I was going to ignore him, still having the nasty impression of the guy blowing me off when I had said sorry so many times, but then recalled the interest Inui had in taking the tensai's data.

Instead, I smiled bright, "Hello, there, Fuji-kun. Can I help you?"

The brunette had a light, sinister smile on his face as he settled his lunch tray (a plate containing only a single wasabi riceball) down at my table, "Where's Chinatsu?"

"She's in the bathroom," I rolled my eyes. It was the fifth time today she had gone back to look for her lost makeup kit.

"Good," Fuji's eyes seemed to shine with a malicious glimmer that gave me chills. Seriously, a puppy dies every time that guy so much as lifts the corners of his mouth up...even a little, "I need to ask you something."

This time, a feeling of curiosity coursed through, and I tried to smother my interested expression with a look of indifference and a cool, "Oh?"

_That's right, Maruko. Play it cool. And then you'll get the data that Sadaharu wants._

I could've fallen out of my chair at what the boy had uttered, next.

"Will you go out on a date with me?"

"W-Why…?" my eyes widened as I held onto the rim of the table for support.

"Because I think you're very cute."

Oh, he did _not_ just say that. Rainbows were cute. Kittens were cute. But Momo-chan was definitely _not_ cute.

"What? No. Nonono," I waved my palms back and forth and pointed at Kaneda Hiroko, Tezuka's fanclub's vice-president (the one who had condemned me a while back with a large, _unintentional_ slap to the side), "you see that woman? _She's_ cute. Go ask _her_ out."

Fuji's smile thinned out, but then, if possible, increased a notch in intensity until I feared he had some sort of brain control technique, "But she's no where _near_ as pretty as _you_, Maruko-san. And you're a hundred times smarter, too. So, what do you say?"

"No," I responded flatly.

_I'm Inui's fangirl_, the unspoken thought hung in the air like dead mist.

The brunette sighed, and a hand went to his forehead, "It's a shame, Maruko-san. I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this…" and then, with a grand flourish, the boy produced a brown manila folder, stuffed chock-full of photos. I watched in fascination as Fuji sifted through the folder with a skilled hand, and then tugged two photos, paper-clipped together back-to-back out and handed them to me, "Look familiar?"

"No…" I turned to examine the two images, and then my eyes widened in shock, "_C-China-chan_…?!"

For there, right smack in the center of one photo, was my dear best friend's thong-clad ass, digitally-enhanced to a shiny degree, and lying innocently on the floor. The other one displayed the other end of the flipped-up skirt, all the way up to my best friend's unconscious features. A chill went down my spine and I tried my best to look courageous.

"You…_you_…"

Fuji's smile seemed to grow each second, while admiring my livid face with a twisted sense of pleasure.

"It was lucky that I was on the way to photography club, and had my camera with me. I'm sure it'd be a good one for the school life portfolio, ne? Or wall décor, perhaps, in the boys' room? You know, Momo-chan, even Tezuka-buchou sometimes gives your friend there some indecent _looks_…"

My eyes bulged, and I ignored the fact that he'd used my pet name, "No. NO! Don't you _DARE_ show this to anybody else!" With that I grappled at the photos and ripped them in half.

Fuji was shocked, just for a second, before replying in a softer voice, "I got them digitalized, too, Maruko-san. Should I give you the address of my photo-sharing site? It's also been blown up 300 percent, for more detail and perception."

I couldn't speak.

"Saa…how does the date sound, then?"

My head seemed to wobble up and down on its own. I didn't trust my voice.

The evil tensai clapped his hands together, the sound like a cymbal clash in my ears, as he rattled on cheerfully, "and I'll pick you up at seven for a movie, tonight. Or would you prefer a walk in the park, with ice cream? See you, Maruko-san. I'm sure we'll have _fun_."

And then he swooped down and landed a peck on my left cheek.

That _bastard_.

"Ohmigod," China-chan popped out from behind me, a triumphant look on her face and a pink plastic makeup bag clutched tightly in her hand, "Did Fuji Syuusuke just _kiss _you?"

"No," I replied, "but we're going on a date this evening. Would you mind telling Inui that I can't meet up with him at the café today?"

My friend seemed suddenly take life when she heard the word _date_, and sprung into action like a winded-up toy monkey with too many springs, squealing, "Momo-chan!! You have a _date _with Fuji-kun! You are _ah_-mazing! When?"

I sighed, "At seven."

_And _you're_ the reason I got into this mess. You and your stupid thong._

"So we have only three hours to prepare? That's _barely_ any time, at all! You'll need to skip dinner, Momo-chan. I'll have to do the quick makeover, too," she whipped out her cell phone, ignoring the no-cellular-devices sign right in front of her eyes, and dialed for her hairdresser (it could only be her hairdresser, as she'd pressed the speed dial button and _one _afterwards), "Hey, Hana there? Yes, this is China-chan. I have an emergency."

I choked on my rice balls in the background. An emergency? Yeah…_right_.

As China-chan continued to babble on and monopolize her entire private collection of fashion designers and make-up suppliers, I wondered what Fuji wanted from me. It was obvious that he didn't like me, really. The blackmail proved as much. But there wasn't anything I really had that he would need…unless?

No. Fuji hadn't tried to come onto Inui when he had his data, so why would he choose this line of attack? It was something else…

The picture of Fuji's blue glare of doom came to mind, when he had seen Eiji crying on Oishi's shoulders halfway across the lunchroom.

Could it be…?

--

We ended up taking a walk in the park, Fuji grabbing my hand in a way that suggested it was clearly not our first date and me looking squeamish as I tried to mentally calculate and remember the different permutations the brunette had when bending over, in hopes over reporting to Inui later on.

"Ne…that was some delicious ice cream, wasn't it, Momo-chan?"

"Y-Yeah…" I agreed, trying to shake my hand out of his.

He grasped my wrist tighter, and somehow forcefully laced his fingers into mine, "Let's sit down, shall we?" And he directed my elbow into a nearby park bench, right beside one of those great green storage bins near the edge of the railing.

There was an awkward silence, and it was made worse when Fuji leaned his head on my shoulders. I tried not to look uncomfortable, and stuck to the mantra in my head.

_Rememberthephoto, rememberthephoto, Maruko, just remember the photo, dammit!_

"Can I ask you something, Fuji-kun?"

"Hmm?" his voice was muffled in my lacy blouse, the most orthodox one I could find in China-chan's wardrobe (she had withheld my own clothes and locked her best friend into her walk-in closet in order for me to choose a top).

"Why did you ask me out?"

The boy raised his head, and then lifted a finger to his lips, "Shhh…they're going to come in exactly four seconds."

"Who?" I asked, a little too loud so that Fuji raised his eyebrows.

"_You_ know."

"No, I don't know," I shook my head, my gaze landing on the metal park storage bin. I heard footsteps, and then two voices, one high and one slightly lower in pitch, approaching our park bench.

And then it dawned on me.

"YOU! YOU WANT TO M—"

I must have shouted the words out a little too loud, as Fuji had finally taken action and kissed me on the lips, effectively muffling my voice and also alerting the two other figures that were slowly making their way up to the storage bin…

"_You want to make cat-boy jealous, don't you?"_

It was a brilliant plan, if I had had a say in it. Kikumaru hated my guts. And if Fuji had caught the right time and led me to the right place, well, it was a melodramatic soap opera waiting to happen.

I realized this when Eiji let out a yelp of surprise, leapt down from the green box beside us, and promptly slapped me in the face.

Correction: Kikumaru wasn't just a child. He was also, _such _a girl.

* * *

**A/N: OMG. I had so much fun writing that. It was planned too long ago. I just had to insert the FujiEiji scene...XP**

**Oh, and yes, I am officially out of hiatus. If you feel like it, please drop by my current angst project, Crying. It's a TeFu. I'm trying my hand at more yaoi. 8D**

**Review? I'm AM a review whore, you know. And I just looked at the number of alerts on this story. TWENTY-TWO. And I get, like, about two for every chappie. Is that fair? (Though I know that a bunch of people have already given up on this story, but still...do I have to BEG?!)**


	12. Inui Love Juice!

**Well,I'm back. Sorta. I can't even apologize for lateness without sobbing for myself. T.T**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

"Hey, did you hear about Fuji Syuusuke and that Momoko girl?"

"That slut? _They're _going out? Fuji-sama would never do _THAT_!"

I couldn't help snickering to myself, at the sound of those two gossip mongers, "Then there's a lot you don't know about _Fuji-sama_, dearie."

Two girls, one which I recognized as a member of Fuji's fanclub (she delivered the cookies every time he had a game), and the other, who was -luckily- not in a fanclub, but –unluckily- a soccer regular with perfect grades. Ugh. The worse kind. She had her _own _fanclub.

They glared at me, and even more so when I mocked their usage of "Fuji-sama", but they wouldn't dare hurt me. Not when there was a pair of arms entwining around my back and leading me towards the center of the hall.

That attention whore—

"Don't go causing trouble now, Maru-_chan_," Fuji smiled, his face radiant with the pure diabolic pleasure at my discomfort of being on public fool display.

"I thought it was just one date," I hissed, my face heating up.

"A man for a woman," he waggled his finger, and then did that weird, obligatory _we're-dating-you-know_ motion where he tugged the cleft of his chin into the hollow of my shoulder. I shrugged him off. Fuji was about half-a-head shorter than me, and walking around like that would've caused even Tezuka to giggle.

"Um. What?"

"_You _know."

And this time, I sort of got it. He wanted a fair exchange. Once Eiji was his, I'd be free to go.

"I see," I reached my locker and started to dump my Math books into an overflowing backpack, "but when you get what you want, I'm gonna do the dumping. You know, in public and everything."

"Why?" you could tell he was a bit disappointed.

"Because you're popular enough as it is. You don't have to trash another _poor_, _innocent_ girl just for your evil purposes. Besides, _you_ were the one who cornered me in the first place."

He sighed, and dug his chin into my neck again, "Okay. But sometimes I wonder if I should remind you again about a certain _photograph_ that I am keeping a _very_ tight hold on. Would you like me to show you again, the absolute beauty of China-chan's—"

"Just because I'm being black-mailed, doesn't mean I have to follow every single of your sorry commands," I retorted, and shrugged his chin off my shoulder a second time.

"Actually, it sort of _does_," he pointed out, with little ill-disguised glee.

"Whatever. Now leave me alone when we go into class. Sadaharu will flip when he sees us."

I directed Fuji past Kikumaru's Geometry class smoothly, hoping that cat-boy wouldn't notice the two of us. The hyperactive dolt had already "accidentally" pushed me into a trash can twice since morning, and I'd counted a grand total of eight times crying publically on Oishi's shoulder.

"I doubt Inui doesn't know about it already, what with his _only _fangirl going out with the school's most popular boy."

"Don't flatter yourself, _darling,_" I muttered, and this time threw Fuji entirely off my waist as we entered the classroom together.

I must've been really loud with that last line, because the whole class had, at this point, turned around to watch us. A couple of girls threw me dirty looks, and the guys were –as per usual- checking me out (or trying to look up my miniskirt, I'm not sure which). Only Inui wasn't staring. He was already prepared for class, and still looking through the last of his notes like the world revolved around them.

For some reason, that really pissed me off.

_Look at me._

"How sweet," Fuji whispered behind me, his smile in place, "you called me 'darling'."

"Shut up," my voice lowered as I slid into my seat and slapped my notebook onto the table. I glanced at Inui again, only to find him now scribbling more nonsense into his green book.

_Just look at me. Just look at me, dammit._

I kept looking at him all throughout the lesson –something weird about permutative figures- but Inui ignored me the whole time, having eyes only for Kiritani-sensei.

At the end of class, the teacher grabbed two folders off of his desk and tapped the board for attention, "The NMC applicatory confirmation results are in! And the only two people in our class that passed the exam are…"

Just a week before, our Kiritani-sensei had given us a test, telling us it was just for practice and mandatory that we take it. Most of the class had failed, because the questions were extremely difficult and filled with unnecessarily lengthy words, and we hadn't thought it was a big deal, until Kiritani had announced that it was the entrance exam to partake in the NMC, or _Nihon Math Competition_, a -highly- prestigious math thing that only a few from the district could enter each year. Apparently, no one from Seigaku had even been to the Nationals, but this year we were given a few entrance tests for the AP Statistics class.

I had taken it, and thought it rather depressing that I could actually understand some of the crap that was written in there.

"Tanaka Jun-kun and Mizutani Momoko-san! Here are your packets. We wish you all the best luck!"

Eh?

The sound of applause, most of it half-hearted, echoed through the math room as my classmates went to congratulate Jun, the cute little junior-class genius who'd cheated on his summer exams to get into the higher class. No one noticed me, except for Fuji, who had jumped up like it was a chance at a million yen and ran towards me, giving me a big hug.

"You're overdoing it," I grumbled.

"All the more for my Eiji!" was the only response I'd gotten, and then he settled for a great big, sadistic grin.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Inui stand up and exit the room.

--

After class, Kiritani-sensei motioned for me and Jun to stay behind.

"Because our school is a bit late in the confirmation handouts," he cleared his throat, and I had the impression that he was trying not to admit that it was his fault that he had submitted the results late, "you have to, er…pay an entrance exam fee of twenty thousand yen for qualifying."

Jun nodded solemnly, his head bobbing up and down as he pulled out a cell phone to call his rich parents about the money, whereas I started to freak out.

Where the hell was _I_ about to get twenty thousand yen?

Mizutani Maruko had gotten into Seigaku on a math scholarship and half-an-educational-trust-fund. Her father drove a public bus for a living, and her mother was too busy having affairs with her boyfriends to care much about the family.

Bottom line? She didn't_, couldn't_ throw around money like that.

Seigaku was a private school, after all. And private school students generally had a large crap of money.

But I didn't.

--

"We're not really going out."

"Could've fooled me. And there's only a 10 percent chance that I ever get fooled."

"No really, Sadaharu, we're not!"

"Who gave you permission to address me by my first name?"

He was sipping coffee, looking at me coolly –or as cool as he could get with the geeky glasses- and with indifference I hadn't thought he possessed.

The hypocrite. I resisted the urge to slap him (again), and tried to explain. It had taken fifteen minutes of persuasion and pleading (not to mention another ten of trying to shake Fuji and an extra-surly Kikumaru off of me) to get him to meet me at the café, and I wasn't about to walk away without accomplishing anything.

"He –Fuji, I mean- he blackmailed me."

"Is that so?" There was still no satisfactory response as he kept gulping down coffee and staring fixedly at the notebook laid out on the coffee table.

"Um," I tried to sound smart and then decided to go for self-pity instead, "He told me that he liked Kikumaru and wanted to use me to get to him. And if I didn't," I swallowed, hoping that this ploy would catch his attention.

It worked.

"If you didn't…?" Inui prompted.

Score.

"He has pictures of Chinatsu in her thong."

There was a pause as I waited for the information to seep in, fingers crossed.

"Ah. I remember that. I was the one who helped him get the camera."

It was my turn to gape, "You DID?!"

He was smiling. I took it as a good sign, "No, not really. But I guess I understand. And that solution actually had a 35 percent possibility of occurring."

Good ol' Data Man's back.

"Well, this will be a very opportunistic time to take in more of Fuji's data. And especially if you choose to become intimate with him—"

Wait. _Gag_.

I cut him off before he could go further with that thought, "Never mind, okay? I'm sure Kikumaru's pissed enough as it is. Just a couple of more buttons to push, and I'll be done with him forever. Anyways, I need twenty thousand yen. Any ideas?"

His face contorted, and then returned to its regular, clueless-yet-not-so-clueless look.

"This is for the NMC, isn't it?"

I nodded sagely.

"I've used up my allowance on gunpowder for this month. But as it turns out, I actually do have a customer coming in later."

I ignored the reasons that Inui would need any amount of gunpowder, and turned onto the other question.

"A customer…?"

"Yes," he looked me in the eyes, "and I'm going to sell him something for twenty thousand yen. It may not necessarily be worth that much. Do you understand?"

It took a while for me to catch on, "Wait, so you'll just give me the money? How can I repay you?"

He considered it for a while, something that no other boy would've done, "We'll see how it goes. Would you like some coffee?"

At this, he motioned to the vacant seat beside him, and the cup sitting on the table next to it. I sat down, relieved that all was forgiven, and took a sip of the too-bitter coffee. Ick. It had a distinct ugly taste that reminded me of eggplants, but I gulped it down and hoped no one would notice my disgust.

It was at this moment that the door of the café jingled and someone walked in. I glanced up, and my mouth dropped open.

Atobe. Atobe Keigo. Hyotei tennis captain.

That pompous rich bastard.

I remembered the time I met him at a tango concert –I had saved up pocket money for ages just to get that ticket. I saw him steal my seat by tipping the usher, just so he could flaunt it before my eyes.

He had to call his bodyguards to remove my hands from his neck.

There was little satisfaction in what'd I'd done, and dad was angry at me for weeks, but I just couldn't watch that brat and his stupid money-flaunting. I was going to include him in my hate list, right up there with Kirihara, but hadn't thought he was worthy enough to put into words.

I bristled as the boy, his silver-hair combed to a degree of shininess and his nails (French-manicured) waving about in the air like there were harmful odors that would tarnish his greatness, made his way to our table, "Why the hell are you here?"

He sniffed, "Ore-sama doesn't like to speak to commoners."

When I was about to stand up and give him a quaint reply with my fist, Inui grabbed my arm. A tingle shot up my spine when he touched me, as he mouthed the words, _Remember the money_.

Normally, I would've never accepted money from this guy. But these were special circumstances. That math competition…

If I could win it, it pretty much guaranteed me a spot in the city's finest college. I couldn't let that chance slide.

"Good afternoon, Atobe-san," Inui's voice was placid.

"Ore-sama didn't come here to chat," the rich bastard snapped, and then lowered his voice, "where is it?"

At this, Inui produced a bottle from his coat pocket, "Right here."

"And how do I know it'll work?" Atobe eyed the bottle suspiciously. The pink liquid inside bubbled ominously, "I still haven't forgotten that time you poisoned us all at the yakkiniku party."

"That was your fault," Inui pushed his glasses further up his nose with his index finger, "_I_ didn't stick a large piece of stimuli into a controlled parameter."

Atobe frowned, "Hmph. Well…No flash, no cash."

"What's _that _supposed to mean?" I demanded.

It was then that the two boys seemed to notice me at all, Atobe with a sneer and Inui with a slightly surprised expression, "Excuse us," he murmured, patted me on the back –another shiver- and dragged the other boy to the far side of the room.

He pulled Atobe into a corner and left me at the table, whispering into the Hyotei captain's ear. Throughout the entire conversation, they were both looking at me very strangely, until Atobe gave a nod of agreement. He looked me over one last time, shoved a handful of bills into Inui's hand –I guess credit cards weren't good for dirty deeds- and left through the café door.

I only caught two words, "100 percent."

"What were you doing?" I asked Inui, when the boy had come back to the table.

He handed me the money, "I was explaining the side effects of Inui Love Juice, which include high-flammability and vegetable aftertaste."

"You're marketing a _love potion_?"

"A hormone that makes you feel separate and/or mixed emotions when you come into contact with the fixated DNA of an object or person, more like," he responded smoothly, sounding like he was quoting a textbook.

"I had to track down who it was that Atobe had set his eyes on, and then I needed to apply his DNA into the juice. Renji was annoyed at first, but he agreed to fetch the DNA for me," he added conversationally.

"_His?_ So Atobe's gay?" My eyes bugged open again, but I wasn't that surprised to see Inui nod.

"The actual subject was Sanada Genichirou, Rikkai's fukubuchou."

"I…see," I said, though I clearly didn't see at all, and then I shot up, "hey, will it work on Fuji and Eiji, too?"

"That depends," he replied, "if you're willing to go to all that trouble to slip pills into Kikumaru's drinks. The love juice should start working immediately, and then he will start to follow Fuji around."

"Anything to get Fuji off my back," I conceded, and then, in the spur of the moment, I grabbed Inui's hand, "let's begin now!"

We proceeded to make more plans in the drugging of Kikumaru.

He didn't let go of my hand until he dropped me off at my house.

* * *

**A/N: There might be some mistakes, as I did type this up -once again- at four in the morning. Hey, it's the only time of day I'm not booked...!**

**There were a few Internet culture references in there, somewhere. See if you can find 'em.**

**It's long, see? And fluffy, to boot. I suppose I should feel happy with this chappie, but I always think I'm forgetting something. And yes, that was a whiff of Tango Pair. If you like my Tango, then please refer to my oneshot, _This Time 'Round_. It's very similar to Tally's fic _I Kissed A Boy And I Liked It_, and I didn't realize that until I reviewed Yukimura's line. By that time, it was already posted. Stupid ezyl. XD**

**Anyways, thanks for reading and please review! I always appreciate reviews and criticism, even if I might be too lazy to take it. Sometimes. And I reply to every single review. :D**

**(It still feels like people are abandoning my fic. Bleh. Make me feel luffed, please? D:)**


	13. Competitive Agressiveness

**So slap me. I'm over a month late. "XD  
**

**Disclaimer: All charries go to Takeshi Konomi and his luffy series.**

* * *

_A man had a ten-gallon keg of wine and a jug. One day, he drew off a jugful of wine and filled up the keg with water. Later on, when the wine and water had got thoroughly mixed, he drew off another jugful and again filled up the keg with water. The keg then contained equal quantities of wine and water. What was the capacity of the jug?_

Next to the question, my messy handwriting had scrawled out a bunch of profanity that no one would care to read, and Chinatsu would've slapped me for mouthing out-loud.

Funny. They never mentioned word problems and proofs appearing on the NMC. Those bastards. I stared down at the black ink over the slightly manila-yellow page, and tried to find the figures of the solution, chewing on a nail and tapping a pen against the margin. The equations, exponents, statistical reviews, geometry, and parametric equations portion of the test were all fine and done, but the test had finally unleashed its horror—the logical reasoning and "problem-analysis" section. Damn.

A drop of sweat trickled down the side of my cheek and I felt the heat of the room come onto me in a sudden _whoosh_. The creases in my forehead steepened.

After taking Bus 17, twisting and turning through a maze of traffic jams and honking truck drivers shipping illegally-crafted designer handbags, I had run through the exam building doors half-an-hour late, panting and wheezing like the world was on fire, or so I was told by one of the nosy old doormen standing guard by the entrance (whatever happened to the strong and silent bodyguards?). The facilitator, a short, squat guy with a pasty-looking toothbrush mustache, ushered me into the room with a fixed sneer on his face as he looked me up and down (I hadn't bothered to slap on any make-up and jump into a revealing wetsuit, so I guess I might've looked more normal than usual).

"Name?"

"Mizutani Maruko."

"Did you say 'Maruko', or 'Momoko'?"

My face probably displayed a very confused expression, as Toothbrush-Mustache-san had already begun to push me towards the exit. It took me a moment to realize what was going on.

Crap. Stupid Kiritani-sensei had signed me up as Mizutani _Momoko_.

For a minute I was tempted to run back to school and punch the crap out of my math teacher.

"Wait! I'm sorry, I said 'Momoko'."

I couldn't screw up that big chance at a math scholarship. I begged and pleaded sorry for five minutes, and it was with a reluctant sigh that the man gave in.

He checked my name off his list, "You need to pay a twenty thousand yen late fee."

The weight lifted off my hands as I shoved him Atobe Keigo's dirty money.

And then it went a bit smoother when the cash was in his fingers. The man gave me a copy of the test, told me to _please_ hurry up, and sat me down in a sea of junior-high nerds –seriously, I could almost consider myself _pretty _among big-glasses-girl and bucktooth-man– at a wobbly desk with a pen that had about three milliliters of ink left in the tube. I was issued a thick test and a cough from a snooty boy next to me, his spectacles nearly slipping off of his too-large nose.

The conic sections and the logarithms hadn't put up a very big fight, and I could hazard a couple of guesses at the half-angle formula questions, but now I was stuck. For the first time in two years, Mizutani Maruko was stuck on a math problem. And a very simple one, at that.

The words started to blur, and my eyes wobbled off the page. Why would the stupid man need to use a jug, anyways? Can't he just go and buy a pre-measured bottle of wine in a market, or something?

My head started to hurt, and my thoughts wandered around to less math-related problems. Where was Inui now? He told me he would be waiting outside the building for me at the end of the test to help review all the questions and catch up on any missing data we had forgotten to gather. And we were going to plan ahead for the next date Fuji had planned…a trip to a botanical garden with man-eating plants and giant cacti (the tensai had insisted he had wanted to show me his love for the desert stenocereus, but I had peeked in Inui's notebook at Kikumaru's medical schedule…and was sure that cat-boy would be making a visit to the orthodontists' right outside the garden that same day).

In any case, I wanted to calculate the possibilities of Fuji surviving after I pushed him into the jaws of an eight-foot venus flytrap.

My stomach started to gnaw. My mouth turned dry from an unknown aftertaste. I had gotten out of the house without breakfast or any water except a gulp of sour milk from the carton, and now my head started to pound as I tried to focus on the problem.

_A man had a ten-gallon keg of wine and a jug. A ten-gallon keg. Ten-gallons. Tententententen—_

And the next thing I knew, I had keeled over; my mouth spouting some vile-looking foam and my eyeballs popping to a degree where I felt they had exploded and the goo inside was dripping on my test paper.

"_Kami-sama! She's dead!_"

Most _certainly_ the jolliest way to end a math competition.

--

_Fshhhh…_

I felt light-headed.

_Fshhhh…_

There was a hissing sound in the air, and I wondered vaguely what it was. Could it be a gas leak?

_Fsh. Fshhh!_

Weird. It sounded strangely familiar. I swear I've heard it at school before. Does Seigaku leak gas regularly? I must check up with the superintendant about that. Maybe it was all a conspiracy to muddle up the students and feed the tennis team steroids.

My mind was connecting invisible, unconnected dots, and it was with a sudden gasp that I solved the mystery of the gas leak.

"K-Kaidoh?"

"Yeah. It's me," The sullen teenager muttered.

"Wha-What are you doing here?" I sat up; looking confused, and finally realized that I had been lying down on a bed with a cat draped over my belly. The gray tabby screeched and scampered when I straightened my body. I looked down at my lap. The sheets were a light pink and blue flowery pattern.

How _gay_.

Kaidoh, noticing my revolted stare at his bed sheets, blushed, "You're in my bed. I think I have full right to be here."

"And did I_ telepath _into your room?" I tried to sound sarcastic and witty, feeling very defenseless trapped in a room with a young tennis regular and some floral-printed bed sheets.

I was connecting irrelevant dots again…did I do something stupid while I had been knocked-out? I must've suddenly clenched-up, 'cause Kaidoh had leaned forward and started to calm me down by rubbing my shoulders. I flinched at his touch, but the boy seemed to know what he was doing, and I relaxed, "I mean, how I ended up in your bed? Not by any unusual means, I hope?"

He gave me an innocent look, "I was getting a physical next door to your exam building, and someone had been shouting about finding your emergency contact person because of you collapsing in the middle of the NMC, and I pretended to be your little brother to rescue you from the ambulance. I'm not sure Inui-senpai would want to know what happened to Maruko-san if she got sent to the hospital."

This guy was starting to speak like a girl. My suspicions about him and Inui, and their questionable relationship, deepened. I frowned.

Kaidoh seemed to misinterpret my reaction, and started to fuss, "I'm sorry for being so rude. I'll-I'll take you home. I had my mom feed you some medicine, and I think you should be all right. Though you should really think about lessening your intake of cucumbers."

I stared at him, uncomprehendingly, "I haven't had any cucumbers in six months. I can remember these things, you know."

(Of course, I couldn't really remember, but it was best to lie in times like these to get the hell out of here.)

He shrugged, and stood up off his bed, "You should go home now."

As if _I_ invited myself over here.

I took his outstretched hand and lifted my sweaty ass off his pillow. I made a note to wear make-up the next time I ventured out. Kami-sama knows how much of an old hag I look like right now.

"I must look like an ugly butt right now," without meaning to, I had mumbled what I was thinking in my head.

"You look fine," Kaidoh offered.

Did I _ask _you?

The conversation continued on this thread as we walked out of Kaidoh's house, his arm supporting my still-weak legs as I stumbled to my block.

"It's lucky that you live so close by," the boy said cheerfully.

I didn't answer.

"I mean, if you think about it, Tezuka-buchou lives three or four subway stations away, it would take _forev_—"

"I thought you were a quiet kid."

He shut up.

And then he opened his mouth again, when we were nearing my front door, "What were you and Inui-senpai doing, anyways?"

I sniffed, "That's none of your business."

"Oh," he replied, and just as I was about to knock on my front he stopped me, grabbing my arm and shifting his bandanna nervously against his forehead, "Wait. I have something to say."

I paused. What is this? A confession to make? Maybe Kaidoh really _did _like Inui? Oh, that would be interesting. Would he try to tell me to back off? Not a chance of it happening, but it was still exciting to hear what shy little snake-boy had to say.

"I-I have a crush on Chinatsu."

And then he ran away, disappearing from my sight. Just as well, because it took five seconds before the words registered in my brain and I might've killed him before that.

"_WHAT?!"_

--

"Let me explain," Inui shifted uncomfortably in his café seat.

"No, _let me_," I was exasperated, "_one day_, Inui Sadaharu decided to smoke _dooby_, and the entire left hemisphere of his brain disappeared. _Then_, he fed his entire month's supply of Inui Love Juice to his poor, innocent kouhai, all the while not forgetting to add some of _China-chan's hair_ into the potion! End of story."

He sighed, "I didn't have give him an entire month's supply of Inui Juice. How would I pay Atobe?"

"Big deal. You gave him half a month's supply."

"I didn't give him ANY juice. This was a natural occurrence, I swear. My data didn't predict it, but that was no matter. I did _not_ feed Kaidoh Inui Love Juice."

"Then explain _this_! Chinatsu has much better things to do than wait over some lovesick little pup ogling her boobs wherever she goes!"

"Kaidoh was not," –he coughed–, "_staring_ at Chinatsu."

"Like _hell_."

"It's not as if Chinatsu-san doesn't _enjoy _the attention," he tried to pacify my anger, and patted my shoulder.

I shrugged him off, and tried to find a comeback.

"Well, get rid of his fanboy obsession. Now. China-chan'll freak if she finds out."

"I haven't discovered a perfectly-safe _Inui Hate Juice_ yet."

"This coming from a guy who force-feeds his tennis team living shit and then expects them to run faster."

An angry look escaped Inui's normally placid features at mention of the words _living shit_.

"Sometimes I wonder why I even let you tag along with my experiments."

I sobered, "Okay. Say we take this slowly, and try to find other women to interest Kaidoh-kun…"

"We are not going to alter Kaidoh. End of discussion."

I boiled, "Well, fuck you."

It was final. I stalked out of the café and left Inui with the bill, even though there was a little wedge in my stomach at having cussed at him.

And then I came back because I had forgotten my purse, and found Inui just sitting there, sipping his coffee methodically, a measured, sad expression on his face.

I crumbled. He was too cute.

"Hey. I'm sorry, 'kay?" I reached out and patted him on the back.

He muttered something about the probability of me coming back to get my bag, and forgave me with a curt nod. We left the café together again, and for a second it almost felt like we were _together _together.

But when I tried to shuffle myself towards him, and just lean a bit on his shoulder, Inui pulled back, hand slipped out of mine, the moment _poof_ed, and we were just fangirl and object of adoration working together on an experiment over the fangirl's boyfriend.

Such a complicated life I lead.

"Let's go gather more data, tomorrow."

"You mean _stalking_, right?"

"I don't prefer that term."

* * *

**A/N: Please review, and thanks for reading!**

**Oh, and I must also give credit to ochibi, for two LJ entries that I ripped off-of her. If you can figure out where I did it, I will dedicate the next chapter to you. XD. -points- I have forgotten to do this for a long time...  
**


	14. Match Making A Go Go

**Here we are.**

**Disclaimer: As ever.**

* * *

After leaving the café, I made my way –grumbling to myself– to the library after picking up my school bag at the apartment building. It was one thing to do homework during study period at the school library, and quite another to get assigned extra English practice from Tanaka-sensei and having to do it in the public library where you were in full sight of everyone.

I hated people watching me struggle. Even if it occurred no less than a few times a day, it still felt terrible and awkward when someone sees you having trouble solving a problem. (Or, when I was young, tying my shoelaces.)

Oh, the embarrassment.

The events of the morning started replaying themselves, all over again. And my eyes swirled when I thought of Kaidoh's ugly-print blankets and the sudden fit I had had in the café.

I wondered if I had been too harsh on Sadaharu. It was a wonder _he_, great data master of the Seigaku tennis team, had even _let_ me follow him around. All my female classmates, most of them would trail blindly behind the other regulars, and not get paid a single backwards glance. All the stalking, screaming, and accidental-tripping in the world had zero effect on those guys; they were so used to it all. Hell, they received breathless kisses a dozen a day, if they were unlucky enough.

And yet, here was Mizutani Maruko, former Seigaku nobody, a proud, _noticed _Inui's fangirl who spoke casually to him. Someone granted position next to the almighty Fuji Syuusuke in the lunchroom, had enough status to cuddle in his arms (not that I'd ever want to). I was Momoshiro Takeshi's dating counselor, the one who always set-up plausible scenarios for him to approach Ann. I was allowed to bicker with Kikumaru Eiji, something my friend Hanaka Tanako would kill for. I even _slept_ in Kaidoh Kaoru's bed.

For all I knew, I could just be another victim of their combined research project on fangirl behavior, a girl who was just kept because she was convenient, a specimen to be observed in her natural habitat.

The thought made me a little sicker than I was already. I made another trip to the bathroom to puke my lungs out and finally settled down to study.

I reached into my backpack and fished out the crumpled piece of paper, crammed with different word structures that Tanaka-sensei had underlined in bright yellow highlighter, italicized, _and_ bolded with her black pen reserved for the class failures.

Past participles melted into my brain.

"_Psst!"_

Kami-sama, _now what?_ Just when I'd finally gotten focused on the word tenses, someone had to come along and distract me. Life was so unfair to Maruko.

"_Psst! Momo-senpai!"_

And this time I looked up, because the source of that voice was the only person whom I approved of calling me by my nickname. Weird, because he was often addressed as the same by his kouhai. But maybe that was why I didn't find it so odd.

Momoshiro Takeshi, of course. Who else?

"Takeshi-kun," I nodded, "how're you doing?"

He grinned, and plopped himself -and half-a-carton of French fries, three unwrapped hamburgers, and a cola- down by my library seat.

"You can't eat in the library," I looked at his greasy fingers with the tiniest amount of discomfort. China-chan would've probably shooed Momo away before he could near my newly-sprayed hair (turns out, the old spray we used against Ichiro-the-basketball-giant didn't work out very well)…but I didn't care.

Not very much, at least.

He snorted, "You're one to follow all the rules, slacker. At least _I_ can still get an A in gym."

"Moot point. That's the only class you don't flunk!"

He rubbed the back of his head, and hamburger grease along into it, "Can we talk about something else?"

I laughed, "Way to change the subject."

"Hey! I really need Momo-senpai's assistance in this one, I really do…" Momo's face hinted at a slight disappointment.

I wasn't finished joking, "What? Finally discovering your hidden talent at the piano? Found a fool-proof way to beat Kaidoh-kun? Decided to stake your chances with Inui Juice? I have half-a-bottle of Deluxe Super Hyper Remix still in my bag that I'm not planning to use till later…"

He smiled, "I-I'll pass on that, thanks…"

I was thoroughly enjoying myself. Throwing around casual conversation with Momoshiro just wasn't as big a pain as discussing math theories with Inui (somehow, tingles always shot down my spine then, and it was pretty uncomfortable), sighing to Chinatsu's prying, critical eyes ("Straighten your dress! Or do you want me to do it for you?"), and trying to worm away from Fuji's lecherous grip of terror (I'm still imagining a fake PMS on the cactus date that will qualify for terms of blackmail, and Fuji's unforeseen chivalry kicking in at the last moment).

"It's about Ann-san," Momo explained, dragging me out of my reverie, "Momo-senpai, I need your help—"

I rolled my eyes. What was coming next, even cat-boy could figure out. There was only one girl in this world that Momo-kun's heart sang out for. And she was Tachibana Ann. And if there was one thing that Momo really enjoyed doing –aside from playing tennis and insulting Kamio Akira– it was chasing after the girl like a reckless fanboy, and then feigning indifference upon interaction.

The hard-headed idiot. If only he'd just go ahead and admit his crush, already, and relieve my pain of trying to find opportunistic positions to place his fat head in.

The way things were going, he would never get the chance of pairing up with Fudomine's poster girl. Not even 0.1 percent. I had calculated it.

(But I would never say that to Momo's face, of course.)

"How do you want me to help? Not by dunking you in the swimming pool again, I hope," the last time I'd agreed to help, little Ann had been at the local swimming complex. Momo begged me to throw him in the water so that she'd come to his rescue. I'd followed his instructions perfectly, and even added an extra-heavy shove to his ass, followed by a string of carefully-picked cuss-words. But when the girl had walked over to see what was going on, Momo was already out of the pool, running across the deck with the lifeguards yelling after him (you weren't allowed to run on the pool deck) and shouting, for everyone to hear, that he had to pee.

He had to _pee_.

Why couldn't he pick a more opportune time to venture into the girls' locker rooms by mistake, and thus creating a tidal wave of high-pitched screams involving several references to pedophilia from the mothers (Momo wasn't even old enough to be a pedophile, for kami-sama's sake) and three separate attempted-rape reports to the police?

And _still_, the spiky-haired power player sitting in front of me would not admit defeat.

"Momo-chaaaan—" he whined.

And I picked myself up from my comfortable plush library chair. No work gonna be done today, and I prayed that Tanaka-sensei would die from a terminal disease on Monday and the bloody vendetta between my grades and her lectures would be forgotten.

Match-making-a-go-go. Here we go again.

"You're too obvious for your own good, and even though I'll help you one last this time, we're going to plan it ALL out," my lips were pursed. I wondered how many more times we were going to go through it all, and continued, "we're going to attack from Kamio Akira's side."

I expected his face to light up, but Momoshiro's features just darkened with a weird look. A look of _disgust_, almost.

"Kamio?" Momo was puzzled, and his face looked seriously comical with a smudge of ketchup over his upper lip. The fast food tray was already finished, "But he's out of the picture already."

"What? He's fallen for another girl? Then what the hell are you still doing here? _Go and get her!_" I was exhausted with his idiocy.

"Um. Not exactly another girl," Momo seemed uncomfortable.

I paused, and stared, "What do you mean?"

He sighed.

"I saw him sucking face with mamushi."

Blink.

_Blink._

"You…what?"

"I saw them…_you know. _In the soccer field next to Gyokurin-chuu."

I could've burst into laughter right there, had not the situation called it to be very serious indeed. It just wasn't possible.

"Are you _positive?_"

"Why shouldn't I be?" Momo wondered, "They were all over each other. And those suspicious soccer meets are finally justified. And I guess it's no wonder Kaidoh wandered around so much during Senbatsu Camp."

I jumped up in excitement.

The next second, Momo let out a strangled-dog cry, as I tugged the second-year out of his seat and sprinted through library, my destination the street tennis courts, where violence and crappy tennis ruled the scene.

--

"Just give me one more chance to talk, and I'll leave you alone forever," Momo whispered, his spiky hair tickling the back of my head as we hunched beneath a bush in the tennis courts.

"You don't get it, do you," I whispered back angrily, "Kaidoh isn't supposed to be with Kamio-kun! He's supposed to be in love with China-chan."

"But I _saw_ them together, mamushi and Kamio," Momo said, "and Chinatsu-san doesn't notice anyone but herself and maybe you and Inui-senpai."

"She does _not_," I hissed.

Momo didn't reply, and I held my breath for a second. The comment stung, even though I knew he didn't mean for it to. China-chan was really a self-absorbed, beauty-obsessed dolt, at times, but she was still my best friend.

And just as I was about to outline a plot I hand constructed to lure Kamio into a manhole at a nearby construction site, my mind was distracted by a sight I had not seen in about two years.

China-chan. My friend, gripping a tennis racket and playing a game with Atobe Keigo (who was obviously beating her, but the girl was holding her own).

A total WHAT-THE-HELL?! moment.

Now, I had a vague memory of China-chan telling me, once, that she and Atobe were family friends and they used to play tennis together, but I didn't pay much attention. The part that really sent me reeling was the fact that she was _playing_ tennis. Chinatsu had given up tennis three years ago, from her position as the youngest female tennis fukubuchou, trading it all in for her first bag of makeup, a catalogue of French haut-mode, and ten million yen from oyaji-san. Why had she picked up her racket again? To keep fit and molded?

And then I found Inui, hiding in the next set of bushes. Another tingle down the old spine, and I had made my way over to him, forgetting about Momo entirely (he was too busy growling at Tachibana Ann talking to Ishida Tetsu, anyways).

"She's got a pretty-good form, don't you think?" he commented, when I had crouched down next to him on the damp grass.

"Oh no, not you too," I moaned, feeling a bit giddy sitting next to him, "have you fed yourself Inui Love Juice?"

"No. I simply admire her form. Chinatsu-san used to be one of the best female tennis regulars, you know. And when she was a freshman, no less."

"I _know_."

He gave up, knowing that I didn't care to talk about China-chan's tennis. I really _didn't_. It was just another thing that Chinatsu excelled at, another thing she was better than me at. She was almost perfect, I could say, with the exception of her obsession with pleasing everybody and looking brilliant in every occasion.

I didn't like to admit it, but I was jealous. And I was also jealous of Inui admiring China-chan's tennis and everything else. And it wasn't the first time I've seen some guy give her _that look_. If only _once_, I'd get some equal treatment—

"Atobe's case is acting up," Inui said.

-IFG Bloopers-

The lime-green, opaque liquid bubbled ominously in its tightly-sealed jar. Chinatsu was looking at it with silent, screaming horror.

I grinned, "Latest version. Inui Juice Deluxe Super Hyper Remix."

"That's…quite a mouthful," my friend muttered, holding a timid hand against her mouth and her other hand supporting her body against the bathroom sink.

"Lemme do something," my lips couldn't stop smiling as I ran out the girls' room door, "Just hold on a sec."

Just as quickly, I came back, wiping my hands as I threw the empty juice bottle into the garbage can nonchalantly.

She was immediately suspicious, "What did you do?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Oh, yes, I will," China-chan snapped, hand on her hips, "have you been drugging yourself?"

I stared at her. Then at the tint of green on my hand from toxic exposure through the bottle. And back at her. And I burst into laughter.

"_This _shit?! Hell, no! Now be quiet, I won't be able to hear the scream."

Still glaring at me, she shut up and started talking to herself about respecting privacy and ruining complexion, while opening her makeup bag and taking out a tube of mascara to touch up her "impurities".

I waited.

And then…

"_NYA?! OISHIIII!! MY TEDDY BEAR TURNED GREEN!"_

When I China-chan's face twisted into absolute shock, I couldn't help it and I started to giggle. Convulse. Crash into the toilet bowl in the nearest stall and splash dirty toilet water on the tiles. She shrieked, but that just started the giggles all over again.

* * *

**A/N: All the hints I'm throwing out...****Anyways, if you wanted to know, I copied the List and the first few paragraphs of Big Girls DO Cry from my ochibi's LJ. She's a brilliant writer, not worthy of old ezyl's stupid fic. "XD.**

**Oh, and if any of you could spare some time, could be kind to visit my generic TeFu fic, Verbal Abuse in the Minor? It's got Dream, Royal, Imperial, and Perfect as main. Many, many pairings! :D.**

**Thanks for reading! Drop a review or two~**


	15. Melancholy of Momoko, stalker's edition

**This was _so_ not worth the wait. Disclaimers apply.**

**Warnings: Swearing, sexual innuendos.**

* * *

When you typically begin a stalking procedure, the only equipment required is simply yourself, perhaps a wig, some makeup, and a map or cell phone in case you're spotted and you can pretend that you're lost.

With Inui Sadaharu, however, it's much more different. Time wasted on a beautiful Sunday tailing after Sanada Genichirou and Atobe Keigo to their tango concert date will result in _fatality and possible diminished reputation to Seigaku_, as he lightly put it, if we _don't follow the necessary procedures to maintain completely obscured and out of Yanagi's eagle eye_. I'm not sure about the _fatality_ part, but I'd rather not risk getting an eye poked-out, or something.

"Matches?"

"Check."

"Pen?"

"Got it."

"Notebook?"

"Yes. I have a backup filled-in, too."

"Night-vision goggles?"

"_Night-vision goggles?"_

"We'll be in a theater," he explained patiently, "and full-sensory perception is a must in such an environment. The chances of tripping over a handbag, stepping over shoes, and even falling into someone's lap are all over eighty percent."

"O…Okay. But I don't _have_ night—"

"Fine. I have a semi-visible flashlight. Now, what about the bottle?"

"What bottle?" I tried to act surprised, remembering yesterday's green teddy bear and referral to administrator that I got Chinatsu's brother to sign.

Inui's brows furrowed, "My bottle of Inui Deluxe Super Hyper Remix. What did you _think_ I was referring to?"

"Umm…" I gulped. What could compensate for this? Premature decomposition, or maybe a limb donation? "Something happened to it, see," I squeaked, rubbing the back of my head nervously, "I, uh…"

"There was a sixty-five percent chance of you using it on Eiji, anyway," he sighed.

"How did you know?" My throat tightened, and then I relaxed because he didn't really look _too_ annoyed, "I didn't tell you."

"And so now I can only know if I'm told?" He responded, a slight smile twisting onto his face, and then he visibly stiffened, "Let's go. Two hours before the show begins, and we still have to commute."

"Couldn't we just get a taxi?" I asked, doubting my ridiculous stiletto heels that Chinatsu had crammed onto me in the morning could stand for that long over treacherous terrains of the public bus and the metro system. One-and-a-half hours avoiding dirty bus seats and perverts did not suit me well.

"Too obvious," he was getting a little edgy, "Come on," and then proceeded to tow the two of us to a nearby bus stop, sneaking-up from behind the bushes, and when Route A7 idled to a stop in front of the glass bus-stop box, springing like a caged-tiger into the double-doors and scaring the driver half-to-death, shoving two tickets down the vendor throat.

It was hardly his style, but there comes a time when I just decide to go with it.

(Going with it, while making apologetic faces and whispers of "sorry!" while stepping on people's feet, of course.)

I called another pardon to the disgruntled bus driver before he could kick us off the vehicle, and turned to Inui, "What the _hell_ was that?"

He shrugged, and dove into a nearby seat as our stalking mission began.

I must make a note here, before something exciting happens and I forget, that I'm supposed to meet Chinatsu at four today for a hair appointment, and also get home in time by six to face tou-san, make dinner (because that's the only thing my lazy ass can do), and make sure he uncovers nothing of my recent escapades. My dad would freak, if he knew half of what was going on, and if he did, I'd probably be in for another hour of heavy ranting and possible house-arrest for the next month.

Talk about cutting corners.

The ride on the public bus consisted mainly of me making sure to falling asleep on Inui's shoulder, and a slight blush on his cheeks that I had only noticed after we ended up on the avenue of the theater. I would've probably made a snide comment about it, but the stress of the week was finally catching up. Spontaneously combusting at a club, Fuji's blackmail, Chinatsu and Momo's assassination attempts on _Momo-chan's_ poor soul…

There was a map of central Tokyo and Kanagawa prefecture in Inui's hand, its outline a mass of circling, pinned, cross-examined streets and avenues. A piece of red tape marked the position next to a famous repertory arts theater, and two other circles drew-out some distant address next to the rural areas near Southern Tokyo and another place deeper into the suburbs, where all the rich people lived. For the rest of the ninety-minute ride, Inui examined it carefully, cocking his head sideways and muttering to himself, scrawling a couple of Venn diagrams here or there for no reason I could think of.

We didn't talk, much, except once when he asked if I was thirsty, and then gave me a sealed bottle of fruit-flavored-mineral water. I accepted it, but it only took a small sip before I felt a crumbly headache coming on.

Three stops away from our destination, he crumpled up the paper and threw it in a trash can next to the door of the bus, tipping oily gasoline and a flask of flammable Iwashimizu #7 along with it.

"It's better not to say sorry first before you blow-up a bus, don't you agree?" He voiced what was probably meant to be a rhetorical question, and then dragged me off the bus at the next juncture. I stubbed my toe four times as we ran the rest of the distance to the theater (should really have bothered China-chan about wearing tennis shoes, next time), until I heard, in the distance, a faint _BOOM_ followed by several women screaming and some unnecessary cat yowls.

I raised my eyebrows, but Inui didn't seem to notice as he strode towards the theater's back doors, the front having already sealed for the show, "We're late—"

I watched Inui fiddle with the lock on the back doors, and then mumble something about fire escapes and burglar alarms.

"Why did you blow-up that bus?" I asked, while he fumbled with a funny-shaped piece of metal, jamming it into the keyhole.

"It was a diversion," he grunted against the heavy metal knob, reluctant to answer, and I pushed against the door with him.

"Of sorts," I supplied, "and someone better not _die_ from it." He suddenly seemed happily annoyed with me and concentrated harder on opening the door, ignoring whatever more I had to say.

It was getting on my nerves, really.

The door swung open. A giant black hole of doom appeared.

"We're going in through the garbage slot," Inui announced after a few seconds of thought, whereupon dragged me into the black abyss of banana peels and kitten scat.

The theater was dark. Pitch black. A stifling sort of darkness, where you could almost feel your lungs struggling to suck in air against your chest. As my eyes began to readjust to the poor lighting, I waved my arms around until another pair of hands dragged them down and I felt a finger on my lips and a frantic whisper that I couldn't hear because my head had started to buzz. It was Inui, and I felt my hands begin to clam with the entire nervousness of being so close to him. I wondered if he would notice that my breathing was a little heavier than usual, and that there were beads of sweat gathering at the roots of my hair.

We were crouched behind a set of felt seats, the cushion soft and a little on the fuzzy side, the kind you see in those roomy, grand halls. Something Atobe would own. The seats in front of us were occupied; I could tell from the pairs of shoes underneath the seats. One of them a pair of expensive black Jimmy Choos, another some sport-designer label that I only vaguely recalled from Chinatsu's shoe rack.

"Turn it on," he whispered, and motioned for a light by nudging my hand. I fumbled through my pockets for the semi-luminescent flashlight, twisting the switch.

I expected a giant flash to cut through the dark, but instead there was a light that turned-on to the right, and I think I gasped in surprise. It drew a glare from Inui's side, but I was rescued by the sound of everyone else in the theater stirring in excitement, and I realized that there was another source of luminosity, the giant colortrans lights that blinded the stage setting, directed onto a pair of tango dancers that were positioned on the wooden floor, their pose motionless like statues, and their faces reflecting no emotion.

The woman was wearing a scarlet dress; the classic low-cut version, and her partner clad in trippy black tights and a very fluffed-up top that flashed _homosexual_. He looked kind-of hot, and I made no comment but to divert my gaze. In the pit, I heard the first strums of a lone guitar flicking through a set of complicated notes, its sound magnified throughout the entire room, and then the dancers had begun.

And, in turn, the official reconnaissance/interactive-research portion of our stalking mission had commenced, as well.

The first hour of the tango concert proved to be inauspicious. I didn't _mean _to sneeze from the gathering dust under the seats. I didn't _want _to suddenly go pee in the middle of reaching Sanada and Atobe's concert seats. And I most certainly _can't_ control the monthly cycles.

But it happened, anyway. I had to beg for change from a middle-aged mother with a howling, smelly baby to buy a sanitary napkin, and it humiliated me to keep a guy waiting outside the bathroom. And then my high heels finally gave way from stumbling across half the prefecture, and I was left with two broken heels, a block of plastic padding, and two measly straps.

During the Intermission, there was success—or, as far as success can go during a stalking mission.

An oblivious Sanada, perched rather precariously on a stool over the counter, glanced around like he was wary of being stalked, and ordered a glass of mineral water. It was evident that Atobe did not come to the concert with him, now, and that the diva had been planning on setting a trap.

There was a shadowy figure lurking behind the counter. I shifted my position to see who it was, and nearly laughed out loud.

We saw Atobe tip something in the glass of water, tripping "accidentally" over the metal countertop and then crouching downwards immediately. Kinda comical, actually, to witness the diva himself, on his knees behind the restaurant kitchen counter, sabotaging the orders of the poor pimply waiter.

The drink was delivered. I waited, with bated breath, while Inui jotted-down more notes and Sanada took a sip of water, while Hyotei's normally-arrogant –now simpering– captain sauntered towards his seat.

"Genichirou! What a pleasant surprise. Ore-sama has—"

There was amazement in Sanada's eyes as he gulped down the rest of the water with a sour face, "Atobe-san?! What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," Atobe replied airily, and took a seat next to him.

"Did you just address me by my first name?" Rikkai's normally-stone-cold fukubuchou had already gotten off his stool and handed a few bills to the waiter.

The purple-haired fool got of his stool as well, not willing to give up, "So, do you want to get a hotel room, or…?"

It was then that Sanada had comprehended what was happening, and proceeded to slap him senseless.

We scampered before it got ugly.

--

"So…this mission was a failure?" I asked, finally breaking the thick silence.

"Supposedly. I guess it had a 50% chance of failing. Inui Love Juice was based upon a separate-gender experiment."

And suddenly, I felt like pushing him into a ditch, "Wait. So you pulled me out, wasting my time while knowing, full-well, that the stalking procedure would be _unsuccessful_? What in kami-sama's name is your _problem_?!"

"Pretty much."

"You son of a bitch."

"Your androgynous nature never fails to amuse me," he smiled.

I frowned in response, "What's 'androgynous' mean?"

He smirked.

"Get a dictionary. And now we must bid farewell."

He left me at the foot of the apartment, and it was after five full minutes before I had begun to process what had happened to me today.

This was a love-hate relationship, as far as I was concerned.

--

Dad was waiting for me at the foot of my bed. And I'd finally realized my error when I saw the giant frown plastered on his face, and the beads of sweat down the side of his face from fretting.

"Oh, shi—"

"What were you out doing all day? I've been waiting for three hours, Maruko! You were supposed to be home for the entire day! And why on Earth are you wandering around in clothes barely big enough to cover a five-year-old?"

Before tou-san gets home, I usually take off my ridiculous China-chan-approved outfits and stash them under my bed in place for a pair of old sweats and my actual school uniform. I wipe the makeup from my face and I remove any loose piercings before he could see. But today, I had come home late, tired, and unable to move my stumped-feet. My legs were still numb from standing and crouching on the floor for so long, and my heart was still beating from gallivanting around with Inui Sadaharu.

Maybe I'd been too tired. Maybe I was pissed. Or maybe, I was just crazy from pulling all this crazy shit. But I was out the door before he could say another word.

--

It was getting darker. The air was fairly chilly, and my feet ached from the stupid strappy stilettos. I was trekking through the park, and it was seven o'clock. When normal people return home and eat. But I couldn't, I'd just walked-out on my dad. I was beginning to feel really stupid and bitchy, and regretted acting on a giant temper tantrum. What was wrong with me? It was like a huge emotional surge, and electrical sparks shooting through me at random intervals. I felt like I was on a giant frying pan. Maybe I was sick with a fever, again.

And it was like this, that I was stopped by a gang of my classmates.

"We know what you're up to, bitch," she smirked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, a leg up on the park bench, ready to pounce, "and I'd say it's gonna be a while before you forget this one."

There was silence, as I looked at her pointedly, my head feeling a light wooziness.

"I don't…follow."

She frowned, and then regained composure with a snap, straightening her designer-vest-clad back, "Don't think we don't know that you're totally defying the Seigaku Fangirl Code of Honor, Momoko. You're going out with Fuji-sama, but you have the nerve to cheat on him with Inu_baka _and Kaidoh-sama. You're talking to them like you've known them all their lives, slapping Takeshi-sama on the back like you're casual pals. Puh-lease, girl, it's not like we're blind. We _know _what you've been doing with them, _all_ of them, you big slut."

Finishing her speech, the president of Fuji Syuusuke's fanclub stepped down from her perch as an oblong bird-of-prey and brushed her bangs away from her face proudly, like she'd just fought a serious battle, reaping the awards of defeating one of the seven evils, or something.

I didn't even get time to giggle at her for calling Inui stupid (come on, you've got to admit that was kind of funny), before my classmates—six or seven super-popular girls, the very ones who pranced around school all day bossing everyone around—had jumped on me and attacked with all their might.

I fought, I really did.

And even so, I ended up with seven broken ribs, giant bloody spots on my cheeks, the skin peeled-off so that it looked like they'd been rubbed raw with three tubes of Bacitracin, lips split at two different ends, scrapes the size of a continent all over my knees, and inch-deep scratches through my miniskirt and my leather jacket.

By the end of the night, Mizutani Maruko was a lost girl, drifting off to sleep on a hard and cold stone seat in the park. So much for the stalking mission.

* * *

**A/N: And my only excuse, is that I've been read BinM junk about Jpop idols and that I've been feeling sick and extremely crushed from my French oral final and studying for all those other midterms. I might be considering another hiatus, as I'm getting a bit bored with this story, even though there's only about five chapters left.**

**Thanks for reading. :D.**


	16. The Unconstitutionality of Drug Tests

**Sorry. It's a little short. I'm going to finish up soon, so you can think of this as the big turning point in the fic.**

**Disclaimer: I would own Prince of Tennis in a world where pedophilia is considered a church dogma and Nishikato p*rn is served as a condiment.  
**

* * *

"…_another homeless? That's the ninth one we found in the park!"_

"_No. Doesn't seem like it. Look at her clothes. Some drunken high-schooler from an expensive party, my guess."_

I woke up somewhere between sunset and sunrise, when the sky's all brown from the smog and pollution from the Tokyo skylines, in the glare of a giant, three-thousand-watt strobe light attacking my forehead. It probably lit my face on fire or something equally drastic, because I was up and cursing about two seconds after consciousness.

"She's awake…" there came a whisper from the heavens above.

"You're damn right. Now turn off that _thing_!" I groaned, rubbing my face. It was numb from the cold and there were deep red marks tracked across my cheek from pressing against the thick wooden boards of the park bench for the earlier part of the night.

"Not before you tell us who you are, miss," commanded a second voice. This one was deeper and gruffer, the timbre of weary middle-aged man. "We're from the local police department. I encourage you to provide some form of identification. Judging from your outfit, we have full right to assume that you might have been an accomplice or victim of a crime that took place here tonight."

I nodded grumpily, and thankfully, the two cops switched off the flashlight. I sighed, and fell back on the bench, but a pair of short, stocky arms had already wrapped around my shoulders and I was hauled to a standing position again. I felt my legs buckle beneath me, "Please let me sit down," and the hands forced me down onto the bench. I felt cold again and weak again.

"Your name?" he asked, not impolitely but not like he'd been serving tea at a five-star hotel, either.

"Mizutani Ma-Maruko," I forced the words through my teeth, trembling in the chilly night wind.

"Thank you," the gruff policeman straightened his jacket and seated himself on the bench, too.

"Remind me why we're stuck on night duty again?" the man behind me sighed, "my wife's already angry about the incident with the OL(1) and I don't want to be here long enough to attract the attention of another drunk case."

"Muto, keep it professional," the older one warned, "This isn't some _sleazy dive_ somewhere. Besides, you're a trainee, and as of last night, I've become your commanding officer. So shut the hell up."

"Keeping it_ very professional_," I smirked as quietly as I could, and then feeling the two policemen glaring at me in the darkness of the city park, stared at a piece of grass on the ground.

Both of them made an unspoken decision to pretend my side-comment was never voiced. "Yes, yes, _buchou_," Muto muttered with thinly-veiled mockery, and tightened his grip on my shoulders so that I started to feel sticky under his grasp, "I will _shut the hell up_."

"And if you've forgotten already, the ridiculous increase of drug crime in the area, code 342 from city law directed us over here," the man in front of me had already taken out a notebook and a pen, "And I'm sorry to detain you from your sleep –which is violating a city park rule, by the way– Mizutani-san, but you'll have to undergo a drug test."

"A drug test?" I shifted uncomfortably, "Why a drug test?"

"What did you expect, a spa treatment?" Muto snickered.

And without another word, I was dragged off to the police station.

--

The results of my drug test that night is the reason why I will forever hold a grudge against the Yokohama Municipal Police Department.

Unexpectedly (or maybe it had been expected, I'm still not quite sure to this day), the examinations did not come out clean. You'd think that, after being hurdled around all day and night, getting yelled at from a grouchy father, and then becoming the pinch-practice of a group of stuck-up girls, I'd get a break, but _no_. No, no, no. Of course I can't. It's completely Maruko's fault now, isn't it?

I'm not whining.

(And I'm certainly not the one who was forced to pee into a cup so they could test the possibility of my abuse of methamphetamine. That was the girl next to me.)

I did end up, however, with a stack of papers to sign, an angry parental unit waiting for me in the lobby, and a detailed vegetamin-analysis of the my blood sample levels, indicating the possibility of there being too-high of an amount of flammable narcotic and hormone concentration in my upper arm.

"What the hell are you talking about?" tou-san roared, upon receiving a heavy package of papers bearing the words _TESTING POSITIVE_, "My daughter isn't _stoned_! I'm her father! I would know if she'd been drugging herself! I WOULD _KNOW_, DAMMIT!"

"But mister, now see here," the harassed-looking inspector protested, having been pushed back into the wall, "the tests we took clearly state that she's been either injecting herself with vegetable juice or someone is drugging her without her knowledge. We have other references from this health report here…"

"VEGETABLE JUICE? THIS IS_ OUTRAGEOUS! _MARUKO, WE'RE GOING HOME!" Incensed, tou-san promptly tore the report to pieces. He made a mad swipe for my arm, but I froze. Vegetable juice? What was this about vegetable juice?

"W-wait," I stuttered, "you think someone might be drugging me?"

The inspector nodded, clutching at my question like a lifeline, "Our tests," he took a deep breath, "confirmed the fact that you may or may not have been injected or forced to drink a substance of vegetable nature, in the last twenty-four hours. Can you tell me what kind of drinks you've had since last night, Mizutani-san?"

"I-I…think I had a coffee." I rubbed my head, "and…and it kinda tasted like vegetables. I was with a friend of mine."

Then it clicked. Everything fell into place.

I had been with Inui, on that stalking mission.

Inui Sadaharu. Data master.

What was Inui Sadaharu famous for? _Inui Juice._

And what had been Inui's newest development? Inui Love Juice.

"_Inui Love Juice was based upon a separate-gender experiment…"_

Kami-sama. _I'm being drugged._

And it was almost as if, at that time, a veil had been lifted from my vision, and my head had been dunked into a pond of icy water. The events of the past month, what had happened last weekend at the math competition…it was so obvious and so disturbing, that I found myself disgusted with my thought processing.

Why didn't I figure it out sooner?

Inui had needed a test subject for his new love potion. And here was a girl who seemed both healthy and perfectly capable of intellectual thought—why not mess up her life by slipping a few shots of hormone and DNA into her coffee, once in a while? I probably collapsed at the NMC because of an overdose or something. In any case, Kaidoh had been giving the oddest looks. Maybe he had been let in on the secret? He was Inui's protégé, after all. And then I thought of something else. That night at the club…I remembered drinking something odd-tasting, and the next thing I knew, I had caught on fire. What could that be, but one of those odd side-effects Inui mentioned?

"_I was explaining the side effects of Inui Love Juice, which include high-flammability and vegetable aftertaste."_

And Fuji! What did Fuji Syuusuke know about this?

Had he realized my current disoriented mental state, and taken advantage of it by making me play the servant to his nasty little match-making game?

My head was spinning, but one thing was clear. It was all Inui's fault. And he was going to have to pay for his bit of tomfoolery with my heart. That data-man will be unable to move around without a walker for at least three years, after I'm through with him. I don't care if I'm shut away in the insanity ward for this and forced to eat meals out of a plastic straw for the rest of my days, but he will certainly not walk away free from any consequences. Inui abused his fangirl privileges, and he played around too much for his own good.

I need my revenge.

And I can't believe I ever admired him.

* * *

**A/N: Ready to murder me yet?  
**

**(1)OL, pronounced _oeru_, is a commonly-used, shortened –and frankly, quite rude– name for a woman that works in the office. It's short for "_o_ffice _l_ady", and quite normally these ladies are paid to complete the most menial tasks, like fixing coffee and filing papers for the big office men. [See also, intern or bondage-slave. XD.] Like in _Ryuusei no Kizuna_, romances are liable to develop between OLs and the office men. That was what I was referring to, when mentioning the cop having an incident/affair with an OL and then staying late to stir further suspicion in his wife. And really, there was no point in having a cultural note like this one but to stoke my dying attempts at humor.**

**Thanks for reading. Reviews would be lovely.  
**


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